


Tender souls

by WhistlingWolf13



Category: MASH (TV), Steam Powered Giraffe
Genre: Family, Friendship, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, hospital setting so there will be mention of injuries and blood, rating to be safe
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-12-27
Updated: 2019-09-01
Packaged: 2019-09-28 13:39:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 6
Words: 48,616
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17184035
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WhistlingWolf13/pseuds/WhistlingWolf13
Summary: When a flu epidemic knocks out several of the nurses and staff at the 4077th Mobile Army Surgical Hospital, they are desperate for more hands. It is war-time, and the staff are used to strange turns of events. But no one expected assistance to come in the form of one small, golden robot, with curls and blue eyes, and a heart which seems all too human...





	1. An unusual assistant

**Author's Note:**

> First story I've posted on this site, and it's a strange crossover between M*A*S*H and Steam Powered Giraffe... But the idea wouldn't leave my head unless I got it written, so here it is. The idea of putting the robots in the Korean War - a war they didn't participate in, according to canon lore - was inspired by another story I read a while back, but I hope I manage to put my own spin on it.
> 
> I'm not a medical professional, so a hospital setting is kind of a challenge for me, but it's not really the main point of the story either. Well, for what it is... I hope you enjoy! :)

When running a mobile army surgical hospital, in the middle of Korea, in the middle of a war, having enough doctors and nurses on hand could be tricky. The ones who did work there often did the job of two; working double shifts and long hours. There were always too many patients, and too little time.  


Right now, there were way too few hands. Because of a nasty flu going around, a dire portion of the nurse staff was bedridden or quarantined to their tent. The doctors ploughed through the best they could with less help, because if they didn’t, people would start dying. Soldiers didn’t stop getting shot or blown up just because the nurses came down with a bout of disease. In fact, they seemed to be getting more people coming in than usual.

At least it was winter and that helped a lot in keeping the fevers of those who were ill down while they worked their way through waves of new patients. On the other hand, winter in Korea was never pleasant. Not even running around like headless chickens trying to get everything done, could seem to keep them warm enough.

“Colonel, we can’t work like this, isn’t there anything you can do?” Margaret almost growled through the mask she was wearing. It was far from the first time she had an outburst like this, and it was of course just as pointless as it had been the first fifty times. Colonel Potter just sighed behind his own mask, knowing well that she was blowing off steam, more so than expecting an answer. She knew the answer was still the same.

“What I would give to be an octopus right now,” Hawkeye Pierce said theatrically, hands buried in some poor kid’s chest. 

“I don’t even need eight arms, I’d be thankful for three,” B.J. Hunnicutt muttered his agreement.

“What arms? I just want to run away and shoot ink in the face of whoever tries to stop me. Clamp!”

“W-what?” Klinger, who had at the moment been appointed substitute nurse looked pale, despite his usual warm complexion. Hawkeye wasn’t entirely sure if it was because he too was coming down with something or if it was simply the amount of blood that got to him. While Klinger certainly wasn’t the most squeamish of people, the amount of rather brutal wounds they’d had this round could make anyone queasy. 

Hawkeye forced down the urge to groan, and grabbed at whatever patience he had left. “Clamp, Klinger.”

“Oh, right. Here.”

He really couldn’t blame him. Klinger was not a nurse. Neither was father Mulcahy and several of the staff currently doing their best in the operating room. But they had hands and they weren’t sick, and that made them some of the most qualified people for the job at the moment. The few nurses who weren’t sick and the doctors themselves guided them through the different procedures and equipment the best they could. 

A door opened and Radar poked his head in. He looked far more enthusiastic than last time Hawkeye had caught a glimpse of the busy boy. The company clerk had been stuck in the office calling around and trying to find out if anyone had a nurse or doctor to spare. The look in his eyes was certainly promising. “Uh, Colonel, there’s a guy on the phone who says he’s got someone who can get here in a few hours."

“Well, that’s fantastic!” Colonel Potter exclaimed, and he too sounded far more enthusiastic than he had in several hours.

“Well, he was kind of unclear about the whole situation, couldn’t answer when I asked if it’s a doctor or nurse. He just said it might be helpful, and-”

“Radar,” Colonel Potter began in the sugary sweet voice he used when he was not in the mood for dilly-dallying. “We’re not picky, get them to send this person over here! Pronto!”

“Well, that’s the weird thing, he said they weren’t exactly a-”

“I said pronto, Radar!”

“Yes, sir!” Radar was out the doors as swiftly as he came. Colonel Potter allowed himself a split second of remorse for his sharp tone, but no more. There wasn’t time for anything other than dealing with the patient at hand, and he knew Radar understood that perfectly.

By the time they finished with the current waves of soldiers, the sun had just about dawned. They were expecting more work sometime in the later hours of the morning, but for now, they would be happy just to get through a meal without incidents. As they huddled together in the mess tent, which was just as freezing as just about every other tent, morale was dismal at best. 

“I can’t feel my fingers,” someone complained.

“I can’t feel my nose,” Hawkeye joined in. “Do I still have a nose?” He turned to B.J. who was resembling a sleepy toddler the way he blinked slowly through his meal, every bite taking forever to reach his mouth and even longer to swallow. He received no reply and continued eating in silence. Not even he felt up to the usual banter and humour he liked to pepper conversations with.

Finishing his food, Hawkeye stood to leave, leaving B.J. to either finish his meal or fall asleep in it, whichever happened first. The tent was too cold to be sitting still for long, and despite the many sleepless hours, he felt restless. Pulling his coat closer around himself, he took a deep breath before stepping outside.  


At least it wasn’t as windy as it could have been. A small blessing, he supposed. The air was still cold enough to escape through chattering teeth in misty clouds, though. His hands shoved deep into his pockets, he half jogged towards the swamp to try to get an hour or two of sleep in between the next ambulance-load of wounded rolled in.

“Hawkeye!” He paused briefly, shut his eyes, and wondered if the voice would go away if he didn’t see the one who spoke. No such luck; Radar ran up to him and grabbed onto his arm which surprised him enough to make him open his eyes again. The kid was pale and wide-eyed and looked a strange mixture of scared and excited. “Hawkeye, you’ve got to- there’s a- just… just follow me!”

“Radar, I was going to get some sleep before-” Hawkeye protested weakly, despite the fact that he already found himself pulled along by the anxious corporal.

“They sent a- Oh gee, I asked for anyone who could help, sure, but… this? It’s not even a…” Radar was muttering more to himself than anyone else. “I didn’t know what to say, so I just shoved him in my office.”

“And here I was wondering why we don’t get more guests around here,” Hawkeye commented flippantly, one eyebrow rising on his forehead as he pondered what could possibly have shaken Radar so badly. 

They reached the office and Radar seemed to almost push Hawkeye in front of him now. So Hawkeye was a little baffled to see that the office was empty. 

“Radar, I thought you said you left them here?”

“W-what? Oh shoot!” Radar looked around wildly. “It was – he was just here, I told them not to go anywhere!”

“I don’t know what’s more concerning right now,” Hawkeye said. “The confusing use of pronouns or the fact that you treated the first sign of help we’ve had in weeks like a prisoner of-”

“Hello.”

Hawkeye turned in surprise to regard the person who had just popped up from behind the desk. Except, he realized, it wasn’t a person at all. His mouth dropped open on its own accord, and for the first time in a long time, he was at a loss of words.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to startle you. I noticed someone had dropped these.” His voice – and the voice was certainly male – was light and sweet, and quite apologetic. It was also decidedly human, which was rather surprising, seeing as the ‘person’ who spoke wasn’t a human at all. 

Hawkeye took a deep breath and let his eyes take in the strange sight before him. A lithe figure, maybe around colonel Potter’s height, dressed in army green like the rest of them. A shock of golden curls poking out from under his hat, much longer and messier than regulations should permit. And not to mention the fact that his face was also golden, and quite clearly made from metal. Brass, perhaps. Hawkeye thought for a moment he was wearing a mask, but noticed that his hands, holding a small stack of papers, were metal as well. Fine lines marked where metal plates met and shifted, allowing for extremely nimble hands and a surprisingly expressive face. The expression was made all the more real by a pair of bright blue, startlingly human-like eyes. It was smiling, looking at them with a patient kindness that Hawkeye certainly would never had expected from something that could only be a robot. 

“Radar, wake me up, I think I’m dreaming,” Hawkeye found his voice again, eyes never leaving the robot man in front of him. Fascinated, he watched the fluent movements as the robot put the papers down on the desk and straightened his hat a little.

“I’m not sure I like this dream,” Radar moaned in return, still hiding behind Hawkeye.

The robot looked surprised. “Wait, is this a dream? I thought for sure I was awake, but I can’t always tell.” Hawkeye could see that the words left the mouth of the metal creation in front of him, but part of him still wanted to look around and search for the real owner of the voice. It, just like the robot’s face and eyes and very existence, was too human. A little metallic perhaps, but that was hardly even noticeable. It was impossible. This whole situation was impossible.

“What are you?” he asked, and wondered belatedly if he should have used ‘who’ instead. The robot’s smile didn’t falter, however, and he didn’t seem to mind too much.

“My name is The Jon. But you can just call me Jon. Humans always seem to prefer that for some reason.”

“Jon. Right. And you’re a…?”

“Oh, I’m a sing-” he cut himself off, and this time his smile did falter just slightly before he forced it back in place. “I’m an automaton. Created by Colonel Peter A. Walter the first.”

“An automa-what?” Radar asked, and poked his head around Hawkeye, curiosity winning over his caution.

“A robot,” Jon said.

“You’re really a robot?” Radar took another step forward. “But, you look so real! I didn’t know people even knew how to make robots, especially one so human-looking!”

“They don’t. Pappy – I m-mean Colonel Walter – was the first and the last to be able to do so.” Hawkeye noted the affectionate term with surprise. What was perhaps even more surprising was the way he changed to the formal title in the middle of the sentence, and looked almost nervous.

“Your uh… your pappy must have a lot of experience with human anatomy. Is he a doctor?” Jon’s eyes widened as he turned to stare at Hawkeye. For a moment, Hawkeye worried he’d broken him. “Sorry, did I say something wrong?”

Jon shook his head slowly. “No, sir, it’s just that most people get angry when I call him pappy. They say robots can’t feel, and certainly can’t have a father.” There was something sad about the matter of fact way he said that. 

“Well, Hawkeye’s not most people,” Radar suddenly chimed in, and Hawkeye was a little amused to see that Radar’s fear seemed to be almost gone now. It was perhaps not that surprising. It was easy to forget that this robot wasn’t human, with the way he conversed so easily and naturally, facial expressions moving in tune with the words.

“Hawkeye?” Jon asked curiously.

“I’m captain Benjamin Pierce, but yes, that’s what people call me.” 

“And I’m Radar. Well, actually my name’s Walter, but everyone calls me Radar.”

“Hey, your name’s Walter too, just like pappy and the others!” Jon smiled brightly.

“Yeah, except Walter’s my first name, not my last.” Radar hesitated just slightly before stepping over to the robot fully and holding out a hand. “Um, sorry about leaving you here so suddenly. It’s nice to meet you, Jon.” Jon seemed surprised, but a large smile spread across his face, and instead of taking the hand he promptly embraced Radar in a hug. Hawkeye had a half mind to be worried about this robot crushing their company clerk, but apart from the initial eep of surprise, Radar didn’t seem to be in any distress. In fact, the robot, while built solidly and very enthusiastic about the hug, seemed careful not to hug too hard.  


When he let go, Radar was left blinking, hand still outstretched simply because he hadn’t gathered his thoughts enough to pull it back yet. Jon took it in both of his and shook it energetically. “It’s very nice to meet you too, Mr. Walter Radar.”

“Oh, j-just Radar’s fine.”

“Okay!”

Hawkeye looked on as they exchanged a few words, before a large yawn reminded him of the fact that he’d been up all night. “Look, Jon,” he started, and the robot turned to him with an attentive nod. “Let me see if I’ve got this right. We sent for medical assistance because most of our nurses are bedridden at the moment. And they sent you. So that must mean you’ve got some medical experience, right? No offence, but I’ve never met a robot before. How can we know you can be trusted around patients?” He was aware that he was sounding a whole lot more serious and official than he usually preferred, but he was tired, and he couldn’t deny being a little unsure of a robot medic.

Jon didn’t seem disheartened by the lack of trust, but instead reached into a satchel slung over his shoulder, and pulling out some documents. “I was told to give this to your superior officer,” he said. 

Radar slapped a hand to his forehead with a groan. “Oh gee, I forgot to tell the Colonel! I just panicked and got you instead, Hawkeye. I’ll go find him right now!”

“He’s probably in the mess tent asleep like everyone else,” Hawkeye smiled, a little pointlessly, as Radar had already scurried out the door. Jon watched him go with a smile of his own.

“I think I scared him quite badly when I arrived,” the Robot said, and his voice was quietly apologetic. 

“Well, when we call in for nurses, we don’t really expect to get a robot,” Hawkeye replied. “I can’t say you look very scary, but many would be scared of just the idea of you, if that makes sense.”

“It does,” Jon nodded. “Back in world war one they tried making us use gas masks in the field. Said it would be less frightening. We couldn’t, though. As it turns out, they covered our steam vents so we’d either overheat or the inside of the mask would fog up so badly we couldn’t see anything.”

Hawkeye’s eyebrows shot up. “You were in world war one?” he asked, incredulous. He had assumed a robot this advanced would be newly built. After all, even for the technological standards of the day, he was an impossibility. “How old are you?” 

“We were built in 1896,” Jon said, and Hawkeye could only stare. The robot seemed to understand his surprise, for he gave a small shrug. “Pappy was a far way ahead of his time,” he murmured as an explanation. “And to answer your previous question, he wasn’t a doctor, but he knew a lot about a lot of things.”

“I’ll say…”

“He programmed all of us with basic medical knowledge,” Jon continued, “but I was later given an update and training with more extensive abilities. My brothers were given more weapons instead.” He glanced down at that, and for a moment, he looked every bit the weary war veteran he apparently was.

“Your brothers?” Hawkeye questioned, finding himself quite curious. One robot was hard enough to imagine, but several? All built by one man in one year?

Jon’s eyes widened slightly and he looked nervous again, which hadn’t really been Hawkeye’s intention. “Um, my fellow automatons, sir,” he said.

“I wasn’t trying to berate you for using the word ‘brothers’, Jon,” Hawkeye smiled, wondering how many times the robot had been yelled at for showing any kind of human behaviour. “I was just curious how many of you there are?”

“Oh,” Jon said, studying him for a brief moment before smiling again. “I have four brothers, sir.”

“Hawkeye,” Hawkeye gently reminded him.

“Mr. Hawkeye,” Jon nodded before continuing. “Only two of them are active at this time. They’re somewhere here in Korea, but we don’t really get to keep up with each other’s whereabouts, unless it is for mechanical emergencies.”

Hawkeye nodded slowly, taking in the solemn expression that had once again fallen over the robot’s face. Reaching out hesitantly, he put a hand on his shoulder in what he hoped was a comforting gesture, even for a robot. He was surprisingly warm. “I’m sorry, Jon. That must be rough.”

“It is what it is. One would think we’d get used to it. This is the third long war we’ve participated in.”

“I think maybe it’s a good sign that you’re not used to it,” Hawkeye said with a sigh. He, as an only child, could only imagine what it would be like to have brothers somewhere, maybe even the line of fire, without knowing or being able to help them.

“Perhaps…” Jon was quiet for a moment before straightening, as though trying to shake off the gloom that had fallen over him. Hawkeye let his hand drop again, but Jon sent him a grateful smile. “Thank you,” he said. Hawkeye nodded, though he felt he shouldn’t be thanked just for treating the other like the person he so clearly was. Robot or not, there was no way emotion like what Jon had shown wasn’t real, in some way or another. He seemed just as human as anyone else.

The doors opened and Jon jumped slightly in surprise, straightening even further at the new arrival. Hawkeye didn’t blame him. Despite colonel Potter’s kindly nature and short stature, he was the type of person that silently demanded respect when he entered a room. He could also be surprisingly grumpy when he was tired and stressed.

“What’s this I hear about a robot nurse?” he asked sharply as he entered, looking around like he was expecting Radar to be pulling a prank on him. The poor corporal staggered in behind him, looking like he was trying to say something but didn’t dare.

Hawkeye wasn’t sure whether to laugh or wince in sympathy when the colonel spotted the robot and froze. Just like that, all the grumpy bravado fell off, taken over by sheer surprise. “Well I’ll be darned if it isn’t true,” he finally said, “that’s not something you see every day.”

Jon looked nervous, reaching up in a shaky salute. “R-reporting for duty, sir. I w-was sent because you were apparently in need of medical assistance?”

If Colonel Potter’s eyebrows went any higher, Hawkeye thought, they’d fly right off his forehead. The expression then settled into a half frown, and he walked forward, silently looking Jon over more closely. It seemed almost as though he expected someone to be standing behind him, speaking the words. Hawkeye really couldn’t blame him, he’d had the same instinctive thought, after all.

Jon, however, started trembling under the scrutiny. Which wasn’t surprising. The colonel, narrow-eyed from lack of sleep and his shoulders tense, looked like a lot harsher at the moment than Hawkeye and everyone else knew him to be. There was something about Jon’s reaction that made Hawkeye think he’d had bad experience with people high in rank before, though. His eyes seemed to focus on the floor in front of him and he clutched the medical papers to his chest.  


Colonel Potter seemed to notice that as well, and he took a step back. “What’s your name?” he asked, and his voice was kinder now. Jon still didn’t meet his eyes.

“J-Jon, sir.”

“Rank?”

“I don’t have one, sir. Technically, I’m registered as equipment owned by the United States Army.”

Hawkeye frowned at that. “Equipment?” he said, disbelieving. “Have they even met you?”

“They have. But I’m not flesh and bone, Mr. Hawkeye. So they can by law use me to best suit their purpose.” Use. That was an ugly word, but one that said a lot about his reactions to meeting people of power. 

Colonel Potter seemed to have similar thoughts, because he was frowning again. “What’s your primary function?” he asked.

“I’ve been programmed to help, sir. Our primary function is search and rescue, though I have been programmed for more extensive medical care.”

“You’re not programmed to fight?” Hawkeye could tell that the colonel was trying to make sense of the situation, he too wondering if they should be worried about having a robot working with patients.

“I… We’ve been p-programmed to defend, sir, if necessary. But we want to help, n-not hurt!”

Hawkeye felt a wave of sympathy wash over him, listening to the way Jon’s nervous energy made him stutter, like any other young man in a stressful situation. Colonel Potter studied him for a moment before nodding to himself. “Relax, son,” he said finally. “You’re not in trouble. I just like to know what I’m getting into here. This is new for all of us, you understand.”

Jon had looked up at him at the word ‘son’, eyes wide. “I… I understand, sir.” He seemed to remember the papers held in his arms, and held them out gingerly towards the colonel. 

It didn’t take colonel Potter long to read through the file, as it seemed to hold only the basic information needed to prove that Jon was both allowed to and capable of assisting with medical care. The wording of the papers were clearly not in the robot’s favour, however, as Colonel Potter muttered under his breath as he read, “you’d think they were talking about a heap of scrap metal…”

Finishing with the file, Colonel Potter seemed satisfied, handing it to Radar to put in the archives before walking over and holding out his hand. “Welcome aboard, Jon. I hope you’ll find this unit to be a friendly place.”

Jon stared at his hand for a moment, as if unsure if it was alright, before taking it gingerly. It was a stark difference to the cheerful embrace Radar had received. But then again, Radar wasn’t the officer in command. “T-thank you, sir. I’ll do my best to help you.”

“I’m sure you will. Now, I don’t know for how long you’ll be here, but you’ll have to let us know what you require of sustenance. I suspect you don’t need to eat, you lucky devil.”

“Oh, I’m steam powered, sir. All I require is water for my boiler and oil for my gears every now and then.”

“Well that’s certainly doable,” Colonel Potter nodded. “Do you sleep?”

“I do have to shut down occasionally, sir, to help my systems function properly,” Jon said, “but a few hours at a time is usually enough.”

“Alright. I’ll have Radar set up a bed-”

“Oh no, sir, that’s n-not necessary,” Jon quickly shot in, “I can sleep on the floor somewhere out of the way.” 

Hawkeye winced, wondering how many times he had been forced to shove himself into corners, trying to make himself as useful and not in the way as possible.  
“Horse hockey!” Colonel Potter said, making Jon jump slightly. “Sorry, son. You’re not sleeping on the floor. Metal or not, you seem every bit the decent person to me. I’ll be damned if you aren’t treated as such.”

Jon didn’t seem sure how to respond to that, so he just nodded silently, eyes still wide. Once he apparently found his voice again, he spoke softly. “A chair then, if I may? Sitting up is better for my boiler than lying down, anyway.”

“Well, Jon, we’ve got chairs in the swamp if you’re interested,” Hawkeye smiled. “It may not sound like much, but it’s our home away from home. And the roommates are top notch.” He thought silently of Charles and his haughty ways, and added, “Well, top notch in two different ways, I guess.”

“Really, sir, I wouldn’t want to bother you…”

“Hawkeye,” Hawkeye reminded him again, and Jon smiled slightly.

“Sorry, Mr. Hawkeye.”

“And drop the mister business. As novel as it might seem, that’s going to get tedious in the long run.”

“Oh, okay.”

Colonel Potter yawned, seemingly satisfied by the arrangement. “Well, I trust you’ll show Jon over to his new quarters then. Now, get some rest. We’ve got wounded coming in before we know it, and I for one would like some shut eye before that happens.”

“Will do, Colonel,” Hawkeye nodded, sentence punctuated by a yawn of his own. “Come on, Jon, let’s go before the sun rises properly. I think you’ve earned a few hours before people start asking more questions.”

“Um, sirs?” he turned to Radar. “I could use the P.A. system to let everyone know what’s going on?”

“That’s a swell idea, Radar, you do that,” Colonel Potter nodded. “And tell them to treat him with some darn human decency, while you’re at it.” With that and a grunt that sounded somewhat like ‘good night’, Colonel Potter left to get some more rest. Radar scampered off with a last smile to Jon, who beamed back. Hawkeye had a feeling those two might get along well, now that Radar seemed to be over his whole panic about meeting a live robot, so to speak.

Jon was silent as he and Hawkeye walked over to the swamp. Hawkeye found he rather envied the robot at the moment. While he himself was huddling as far into his clothes as humanly possible, Jon looked perfectly chipper in just a regular uniform jacket and hat. The robot’s eyes roamed around, observing the camp and whoever were out and about with keen interest. He seemed more relaxed again now, although he seemed to bow his head and hide under the brim of his hat whenever someone was close.

They’d just reached the tent when they heard Radar’s message over the P.A. system, informing the camp that they had a robot in their midst and to treat him like a person. Now that wasn’t something one heard every day, Hawkeye thought to himself.

“That’ll give them something to talk about. All we’ve had lately are messages of incoming casualties.” Hawkeye stepped opened the door and saw that B.J. had somehow made it back to the tent, and had collapsed on top of his bed. Holding the door open, he motioned for Jon to enter. Jon did so, tossing an uncertain look at the man on the bed before looking around curiously. “Beej, you awake?” Hawkeye asked, once Radar finished his message.

“Mm.”

“Come on, look alive for a second, will you? This is Jon. He’ll be bunking with us.”

B.J. didn’t move, but Hawkeye heard him mumble a “Hi, Jon,” into his pillow.

“Hello,” Jon replied, glancing over from where he was curiously looking at the still. He didn’t receive a response, and before long, soft snoring could be heard coming from B.J.s bed.

Hawkeye smiled and shook his head, deciding that trying to wake him up any more right now would be downright cruel. Besides, it might be amusing to see his reaction to the fact that their new roommate was a robot, once he did wake up.

“Well, as much as I hate to be bad company, Jon…” he yawned and sat down on his own bed. Jon gave him a smile. 

“I understand, sir. Please don’t mind me. I think I’ll have a little shut eye as well, I didn’t get much rest last night.” He glanced at a wooden chair in the corner, mainly used during poker nights, and Hawkeye nodded, silently telling him that it was alright to sit down. Jon did so, gingerly.

“You know, you can still have a bed if you want,” Hawkeye pointed out, feeling somewhat guilty that a wooden chair of all things would be used for sleep. Its back wasn’t even tall enough for Jon to lean back and properly relax. 

“No, this is great,” Jon smiled happily, and if that wasn’t the truth, he was a better liar than Hawkeye would have pegged him for. 

“If you say so. Feel free to change your mind.” Hawkeye huddled under his sheets, but couldn’t help but keep a curious eye on the robot, as it seemed he didn’t notice he was being watched. He sat still for a while, just looking around. After a moment, he stood and walked over to B.J.s bed. There, to Hawkeye’s astonishment, he carefully pulled the sheets from where they lay tangled under the doctor, and put them over him instead. Once he was certain that the doctor was properly shielded against the cold, he smiled and sat down again. Mere moments later, his eyes shut and his head tipped forward, hat and curls casting his now neutral face in shadows. Hawkeye smiled to himself, shook his head and was asleep as well before long.

It seemed his eyes had barely shut when the sound of chopper blades and the speaker, announcing incoming wounded, woke him up. The sun was a lot higher in the sky than it had been, though, and his watch confirmed that he had in fact slept almost two hours.

He was up and dressed on autopilot, grunting a morning greeting to B.J. who was doing the same. It wasn’t until he noticed B.J. freeze completely that he remembered Jon. His friend’s eyes were trained on the robot, who had apparently powered on again and had stood up.

“Hawk. I think I’m still sleeping. Or I’m going mad.”

“What do you mean?” Hawkeye asked with a small smirk, pulling on his coat and hat. “What are you looking at, anyway?” He knew there was technically no time to joke around, but he couldn’t help it. It was a rare thing to see B.J. this off balance.

Jon, however, took pity on B.J., taking a tentative step forward and holding out his hand. “Hello. My name is Jon. I’m sorry I startled you.”

“Uh… Hi.” B.J. didn’t take his hand, but glanced at Hawkeye with eyes that said that joke time was over. So Hawkeye shrugged.

“Don’t worry, I see him too. So either I’m also sleeping, or we’re both mad.”

“Aha,” B.J. turned back to Jon and with a deep breath, took his hand. “I’m uh… Captain B.J. Hunnicutt.”

“Nice to meet you, sir,” Jon smiled. He cocked his head slightly to the side when B.J. didn’t let go of his hand, but kept staring at it, astonishment written all over his face. “Sir?”

“B.J. he needs that hand to help out. Come on, we got to go. Jon here is our new medical assistant.”

“What? He’s… but he’s a…” 

“A robot, yes. Now let go and let’s go.”

B.J. seemed to shake out of it, nodding absently as they headed out and hurried in the same direction as everyone else. Hawkeye figured he would need some time getting used to Jon. And he wasn’t the only one. It seemed every single person who looked at Jon did a double take. And most of them, unlike B.J., had presumably heard the message over the P.A. system.

Jon jumped straight into the action to the best of his abilities. Quietly introducing himself to anyone who froze and kept staring at him, in an attempt to relax them, perhaps. Hawkeye could only imagine what it must be like to be met with stares like that everywhere he went. He seemed used to it, but it must grow tiresome or lonely with time.

“So this is the machine everyone’s been talking about all morning,” Hawkeye heard Charles Winchester comment, and braced himself for a long tirade about how a robot had no place in the field, or anywhere else, for that matter. The major was opinionated and never hesitated to share his views of the world. “Quite frankly, I thought O’Reilly was jesting.”

“No jest,” Hawkeye promised, as he sent another kid off to be prepped for operation. He noticed Jon kneeling by one of the patients, a young kid who was barely awake. He seemed to be talking quietly to him, looking up at Hawkeye with a grave expression that had Hawkeye march over there quickly. “How are we doing here?” he asked quietly. The kid on the stretcher didn’t take his eyes off Jon. He was smiling, though his eyes were glazed. A quick look at his chest confirmed what Hawkeye had already seen in Jon’s eyes. The kid wouldn’t make it.

“G-gold… you’re made of gold,” the boy spoke, throat rasping with every word and every weak breath he drew. Jon nodded, and gave a small smile. His expression was sadder than Hawkeye had ever expected it to be. Reaching out, he gently grasped one of the boy’s hands. “Are you… an angel?”

“No,” Jon said, voice impossibly soft. “But I’m going to make sure you’re safe, okay?”

Hawkeye looked at him seriously. “You understand he’s-” he didn’t finish the sentence on purpose, speaking quietly enough that the kid wouldn’t hear. Jon met his eyes and nodded, sad smile still in place. Hawkeye nodded back, catching the eye of Father Mulcahy, who quickly came over. The priest, like everyone else, seemed to jump slightly at the sight of the golden robot, but true to his dedication quickly knelt to do his job. Jon didn’t look at him, instead addressing the boy.

“Are you in pain?”

“No. your hand’s cold. Feels… nice. Is it made of… gold too?”

“Yes,” Jon said, and while it technically wasn’t true, it wasn’t really a lie either, as every visible inch of him was made in that same golden metal. 

“’s pretty.” The kid was still smiling, even though he both looked and sounded like he’d be gone before long. Hawkeye sighed softly. There was a small comfort that some of them got to die painlessly at least. It was never easy, though, watching the light fade from someone’s eyes. Especially one so young.

“You’ll be going on a trip soon,” Jon murmured. “To a place with lots of green grass and blue skies. Clean water, a lake even.”

“Like the one… at home?”

“Yeah. It’s perfect for swimming in. And just lying next to it to dry off in the summer sun.”

Hawkeye listened, transfixed as Jon continued telling the boy about this wonderful place. A place where the boy would be happy. A place where he wasn’t dying in a cold compound in a foreign country. Father Mulcahy seemed just as baffled by the surprising display of comfort, but began doing his last rites, quietly. The kid’s eyes stared into nothing, but Hawkeye thought he could see the summer wonderland in his eyes and in his smile, even as his breath stilled and he knew no more.

Hawkeye, at a loss for words, put a hand on Jon’s shoulder and squeezed it briefly before moving on to the next patient. There was no time to waste on those he couldn’t help, as more soldiers lay injured or dying around them. A glance told him that the robot didn’t linger long either, exchanging a few quiet words with father Mulcahy before moving on to the next patient. He found himself wondering how many times Jon had had to do something like this.

Charles had apparently watched the exchange as well, for he had a solemn look on his face. “Quite the ‘machine’, isn’t he?” Hawkeye couldn’t help but say, thinking about how the words the major had used didn’t seem to suit Jon at all. Charles gave him a dry look, but said nothing as he moved on to another patient.

 

The next time Hawkeye saw Jon was in the OR. It was easy to forget that Jon wasn’t human, when his face was half covered with the mask, and his wild hair was pulled back into a hat. His movements gave him away, being just a little too robotic to be human. Anyone would be a little wary of having the robot handle things with care. But his hands and fingers, Hawkeye soon found, moved with delicate precision. There wasn’t a sign of the stilted movements or the tics that sometimes affected the rest of him. 

Of course, not everyone was impressed. “Colonel, I know as well as anyone that we were desperate for help, but this is ridiculous!” Margaret Houlihan had been the first to announce her displeasure to have what she called a ‘potentially volatile machine’ in the OR. Despite Colonel Potter’s calm attempts at diffusing her, she refused to back down. The two of them had been having this argument since they started, on and off between patients. Hawkeye would have pointed out that just hours before, she was complaining just as much about being short of help, but he didn’t particularly feel like getting pulled into their argument.

“Major, Jon seems perfectly capable,” Colonel Potter said, and Hawkeye could hear she was starting to get on his nerves. “In fact, he is doing his job right now, rather than annoying his commanding officer with idle chit chat!”

“Oh, 'he' is doing his job, is that so?” Margaret huffed angrily. “That’s exactly my point, sir, it’s not a 'he' at all! It’s a machine!” The OR was silent after that biting statement, and Hawkeye found he was already quite tired of that word. “The fact that it’s got you convinced it’s human… it’s an act against God, and quite frankly I find it disturbing.”

“Oh, come on, Margaret,” Hawkeye shot in, “you act like he’s some kind of monster!”

“Whose to say it isn’t? We don’t know the first thing about it or the lunatic that would create such a-”

The sound of an instrument clattering to the floor cut her off, and Hawkeye looked up to see Jon quickly bending and picking it up with a murmured apology. Something twisted sharply in his chest as he recalled Jon’s brief but fond words about his creator. He’d called him pappy.

“See, it’s already making a mess in here,” Margaret spat, and Hawkeye had had enough.

“Will you shut up, Margaret,” he snapped, and his voice didn’t hold a trace of his usual humour. “I’ll have you know that Jon’s been the very picture of efficiency in here so far. He probably dropped that because you offended his creator, a man he looks up to like a father, might I add.” 

“Don’t be ridiculous-”

“You say we don’t know a thing about him. Well, you haven’t exactly tried to find out, have you? Did you know he has two brothers out in the field somewhere, not having any idea if they’re all right? Or that this is the third war he’s been in? He’s the kind of person who would pick up things that someone dropped on the floor, just because. The kind of person who’d put a blanket over you when you’re too exhausted to do so yourself before falling asleep. The kind of person who would rather sit and sleep on the floor somewhere than to ask for any sort of comfort.”

“The kind of person who would take the time to offer comfort to a dying child,” father Mulcahy chimed in softly. “I won’t pretend to understand how such a creation could exist. But perhaps it is not an act against God, but rather God’s will to bless us with a helpful soul in these trying times?” Hawkeye never failed to be amazed by the priest’s open mind and kind, accepting spirit. 

The OR was silent. For once, Margaret didn’t seem to have anything to say. Jon’s blue eyes were trained on Father Mulcahy, gratitude shining in their depths. When the priest gave him a smile and a nod, he looked almost bashful, murmuring a soft ‘thank you’ behind his mask.

“Well said,” Colonel Potter said. “Now, if it’s not too much to ask, can we have some quiet in here so we can all do our job?” His voice was sharp enough to cut off any replies apart from a quiet “yes, sir,” from Margaret. She didn’t speak up again.

 

As things started to get more hectic, with more patients with more severe damage, the fact that Jon wasn’t human seemed to be pushed into the background and forgotten. Hours passed, and before long, even Margaret seemed grateful for his assistance there. Where a human would get tired and shaky with time and pressure, Jon was as steady as a rock, observing with keen eyes what needed to be done, and doing so without a word. 

It wasn’t until the robot was assisting Hawkeye with one of the patients that he got to take a close look at him. He looked pained, like it hurt him to look at the patient in front of them. Hawkeye found himself wondering if the rest of them had that look in their eyes as they worked. He was almost scared to think that perhaps they didn’t. After all, fixing up injured people had become routine. 

“Why do they always have to recruit kids?” Jon’s voice was soft. It was a rhetorical question, and one Hawkeye had asked himself many times. 

“You must have seen a lot of these cases over the years,” he said quietly and received a nod in return. “Do you ever wish you were just a machine?” Jon glanced up at him, quizzically. “I mean, obviously you can feel. And you seem to care, a lot. Wouldn’t it be easier to just… not?”

He wondered, as Jon didn’t reply for a while, if he was overstepping a line here. Perhaps it was a stupid question. But Jon didn’t seem upset, just thoughtful. “I think humans are wonderful,” he began after a while, voice soft. “You smile and laugh, cry when you’re sad, yell when you are angry or scared. I don’t always understand why you humans do what you do, but I know that I like it better when you’re happy. I want to help humans be happy. And how could I do that if I didn’t also understand your pain, your sadness, or your anger?”

Margaret who was administering the anaesthesia shook her head in wonder, and her eyes looked milder now than they had before. “I still don’t understand how a man could program something with this level of empathy,” she said, though her voice wasn’t harsh and she looked directly at Jon for the first time, as if searching for something in his eyes.

Jon seemed to smile just a little under his mask. “Neither did he, ma’am. He even asked after our first war if we hated him for it. He too wanted to know if we’d like to not feel.” He glanced up at Hawkeye before looking down again with a solemn expression. “But if we didn’t feel, we wouldn’t be able to do what we were made to do. And beside, if we didn’t feel… he would be alone. And we’d been around long enough to know that loneliness hurts.”

Hawkeye couldn’t help but think how loneliness must be a rather pressing issue for a robot who was sent around and treated like a thing all the time. And to think that he and his brothers gladly endured that pain just to make others happy was a little heart breaking. Margaret seemed to think so as well, because she looked remorseful.

“I’m sorry,” she said after a while, her voice merely a whisper. “I do believe I was wrong about you… Jon.” He gave her a smile that seemed to light up his eyes. A silent gratitude and forgiveness that she accepted with a small smile of her own.

 

When dinner time finally rolled around, Hawkeye was exhausted. Post-op was full of patients, though at least everyone was stable for now. It had been a long day, and he was glad that things had calmed down somewhat. 

Pulling his coat tightly around himself, and wrapping his scarf all the way up to his ears, he was about to head out. It was mere coincidence that he spotted Jon before leaving. The robot had been bustling around the room all afternoon, making himself useful. But as time passed, there wasn’t too much to do anymore, and Hawkeye could tell the robot was unsure of what to do next.

“Come on, Jon, it’s time for dinner,” he smiled. Jon looked at him with surprise.

“Oh, but… I don’t eat.”

“That doesn’t mean you can’t join us.”

A blank look crossed the robot’s face for a moment, and Hawkeye wondered if he was trying to process this invitation. Finally, he spoke, slow and careful. “I’m not usually welcome in places where I don’t have a specific use.”

“Yeah, I kind of figured as much,” Hawkeye murmured. “But let me phrase it this way; I would like it if you joined us for dinner.”

“Really?”

“Really.”

“Oh. Okay.” Jon nodded, giving a somewhat shy smile. He still didn’t seem to believe that anyone would simply want his company. Hawkeye was determined to change this by the time Jon left. 

The two of them headed out, walking swiftly over to the mess tent. “Welcome to our wonderful restaurant, where the most delicious garbage is served,” he said sarcastically as he opened the door for Jon to enter. The robot did so with a last, uncertain glance, at Hawkeye.

The mess tent was lively with conversations as the two of them entered, more so than usual. When they caught sight of Jon, a strange hush fell over the room, making it fairly clear what their conversations had been about. It reminded Hawkeye a bit of a bunch of high schoolers gossiping behind someone’s back.  


He was about to make a joke to lighten the mood, when B.J. – bless his heart – smiled and waved from where he was seated with Colonel Potter. “Come and sit with us, Jon,” he called out to the robot who had stopped just inside the door, looking a little lost.

“Go on, I’ll just grab some food and be right over,” Hawkeye said, feeling like a protective big brother or something. Jon nodded, walking over. Several of those who had met him during the recent surge of patients greeted him kindly as he passed. And as he sat down, conversations steadily started up again around the room. It was big enough a relief that Hawkeye didn’t even feel like complaining about the food. Instead he grabbed his serving and a cup of coffee and walked over to join them.

“So, Jon, where are you from?” he heard B.J. ask as he sat down next to him. Jon had taken a seat next to Colonel Potter, though he sat as far away on the bench as he could come, as if afraid he was disturbing him. He didn’t look quite as tense as he had earlier in the colonel’s presence, though.

“Oh, I’m from San Diego, California” Jon smiled, and just like any other homesick person, it was like a light lit up in his eyes. 

“Hey, I’m from Mill Valley!” B.J. gave a grin of his own. Hawkeye knew that not much more was needed to find comfort when stranded in Korea. Sharing a state was almost like sharing a home, despite the physical distance between their respective cities.

“We visited Mill Valley once,” Jon said eagerly, clearly just as happy as B.J. was to talk about something familiar. “We rode the recently opened scenic railway up the mountain!”

“You mean Mount Tamalpais? When did you say you were built again?” B.J. asked, confused.

“1896, sir,” Jon smiled. “I think that railway was built the same year, though we visited a few years after that. ‘The crookedest railroad in the world’ – it was great!”

“I’m sure it must have been,” B.J. said, clearly baffled by this discovery. Like Hawkeye, he probably didn’t think a robot like Jon could have been built that early. Even when knowing, it was easy to forget.

“You never took the railway?” Jon tilted his head slightly at that and B.J. shrugged.

“Once, but I was just a kid back then, I don’t remember it. They shut it down a few years after I was born. A fire, I think.”

“Oh…” Jon’s expression fell slightly. “That’s a shame.”

“Not easy living through history,” Colonel potter hummed. “Things appear and disappear, and new things take its place. In this case, cars I’m guessing.”

“Yeah,” B.J. nodded before giving a slightly nostalgic smile. “Mill Valley’s still beautiful, though, despite how it’s changed. You should visit again when you have the chance, Jon.”

“That would be nice,” Jon nodded. “There are many places I’d love to see. Although, if I got to go home to San Diego, I think I’d prefer to stay there for a while first.”

Hawkeye nodded slowly. “I think we all share that sentiment, Jon. There’s no place like home, right?” The robot smiled at him, a quiet sort of smile that showed he agreed wholeheartedly. Trying to combat the melancholy, which could easily follow a sentence like that, he continued, “Well, for me, home’s Crabapple Cove, Maine. Can’t wait to see my dad again.”

“And I’m looking forward to waking up in Missouri with my dear Mildred,” Colonel Potter added. 

“Your wife, sir?” Jon questioned softly, after hesitating briefly. It was clear that he was still uncertain what he was allowed to say and not, and Colonel Potter was quick to reassure him by nodding. 

“Yes, my wife and beloved. Do you have someone waiting back home, Jon?”

Jon seemed to think about that for a moment, and Hawkeye could tell from his expression that he wasn’t sure what to say. His smile had dimmed considerably. “There are… they… things were hectic back home, before we left. Several people d-died… Things were quite sad. I wonder if perhaps that’s why we were sent here.” 

“That doesn’t sound too good,” Colonel Potter frowned sympathetically. “I’m sorry, Jon, I didn’t mean to upset you.”

“Oh, no, it’s okay, sir,” Jon blinked, as though confused by the sympathy. “I’m sure things will get better again. My family has had some bad luck over the years, but they do their best to get by and help each other and us robots.”

“By sending you off to Korea?” Hawkeye couldn’t help the hint of doubt that crept into his voice. Sometimes he cursed his urge to speak his mind before stopping to think.

“The Walters aren’t exactly wealthy,” Jon tried to explain, meeting Hawkeye’s gaze earnestly. “Pappy never wanted to send us to more wars, after that first one, but the army pays well, and they can be quite… convincing.”

“In other words, they played on your family’s desperation to gain some fancy weapons?” Hawkeye said, more a statement than a question. He could tell by Jon’s downcast look that he’d hit the nail on the head.

“That’s awful,” B.J. murmured. “So this is the third war you’ve been shipped off to?”

“The third one under the command of the army,” Jon nodded. “It’s our fourth war, really, but…” a shudder went through his chassis and his eyes fell to stare intently at the hands that were wringing nervously in his lap, “we’re not supposed to talk about that.”

Hawkeye blinked. That sounded ominous, and while curious, he decided that he probably didn’t want to know. Besides, Jon looked uncomfortable enough as it was, without any further intrusive questions. It wasn’t hard to imagine things going on that the public didn’t know about. Even the robots’ involvement in these past wars appeared to be something that was hushed down. By any rights, it should have been the talk of every news source after the past wars. The fact that no one here had even heard about such creations probably meant that the army had done a lot to avoid attention.

“Hawkeye said you had two brothers who are also here in Korea, right?” B.J. said after a while, “They’re robots too?” 

“Yes, we were built the same year. They’re my big brothers,” Jon was thankfully smiling again, happily latching on to the change of subject.

“What are they like?” Colonel Potter asked curiously. 

“Hm… Rabbit’s the oldest, although he doesn’t always act like it. He’s stubborn and determined and really kind! He’d do anything to protect us! He loves hugs and games and sometimes he braids my hair!” It was hard not to smile at the enthusiastic description of this Rabbit. Hawkeye would never have been able to guess from what Jon listed off, that the person he described was anything but human. “The next oldest is The Spine!”

“The Spine?” B.J. asked, eyebrows raised.

“He was built with a titanium alloy spine, that’s why he got his name,” Jon said, either oblivious to the oddities of their names, or just not caring either way. “He acts all serious, a little distant at times, but I know he cares a lot. He just thinks he has to be the strong one all the time.”

Colonel Potter nodded sagely. “Some men are like that. They show they care by taking everyone else’s’ troubles on their own shoulders and weathering the world alone.”

Jon’s eyes brightened slightly, in the way Hawkeye noticed it did whenever someone spoke of him or other automatons like people and not machines. As the conversation continued, Hawkeye couldn’t help but see how Jon almost subconsciously shuffled closer to the colonel, no longer sitting as far away as he could, and looking notably more relaxed.

Finishing their meal, they eventually headed out. Jon followed them without being invited this time, seemingly feeling a little more at ease around them. Hawkeye and B.J. had just decided to head for the officer’s club for a while, when Hawkeye realized that the robot had stopped a few steps behind them, head tilted slightly and eyes unfocused.

“Jon?” he took a step closer to the other, taking note of the tense shoulders and bewildered expression. He was as still as a statue. Could easily pass as one, if it weren’t for the slight gleam of the blue eyes in the dimming evening light, blinking occasionally, or the curls blowing about his head in the wind. It was almost a little unnerving.

“Everything ok?” B.J. approached as well, glancing at Hawkeye as if he thought that he had all the answers. The only answer he could give, however, was a shrug. He wasn’t sure whether to try touching the robot or just wait. Thankfully, he was spared the decision, as Jon seemed to blink back to reality, once again meeting his eyes.

“You back with us?” he asked carefully.

“What? Oh… I just… thought I heard something.” His voice was quiet, barely above a whisper, and he looked confused. “I’m sorry, did I space out?”

“Only for a second there,” Hawkeye tried to reassure, wondering what had caught the little robot’s attention. The confusion didn’t disappear completely from Jon’s face, and he certainly seemed more subdued. It was a sudden change from how he’d opened up more during the meal. “B.J. and I are headed over to the officer’s club. Do you… You should come along.” He only just remembered to change the phrasing from ‘do you want to come’, which could easily be interpreted as them feeling forced to include him.

“But I’m not an officer?” Jon said, bewildered. Hawkeye regularly forgot that people outside of the 4077th weren’t as lenient with the rules as they were. 

“Oh, don’t worry. We made them officially allow not only officers, but relatives and family of the officers as well. And the way I see it, everyone here’s family.” He grinned. While it might be a loophole to the actual rule, it was none the less true. The way he saw it, it was either everyone or no one.

“That’s… But I’m not…”

B.J. chuckled at the look on Jon’s face, like he was trying to figure out what was going on and whether it counted as an invitation or just information. “Relax, Jon. It just means everyone’s allowed access here. Officers, not officers, that doesn’t matter. It’s just a place to calm down and have fun.”

“Oh…” The robot nodded slowly. Then looked down, wringing his hands in front of him. He seemed to be considering his words. “Thank you for inviting me, but… is it alright if I return to the tent?” 

“Oh,” Hawkeye said, surprised at the timid request, but not offended like Jon seemed to believe they would be. “Sure. Tired of us already, huh?” He went for the joke before remembering that the person in front of him was not only a robot but also a robot who probably wasn’t used to dealing with humorous quips from his technical superiors. 

“Oh, no, sir!” Jon looked genuinely upset at that, and Hawkeye quickly raised his hands in a placating manner. 

“Sorry, I’m joking. I joke a lot. Too much, some would say. I forget new people aren’t always used to that.” He smiled, relieved that Jon seemed to accept that with a small smile of his own. “You go ahead and relax, Jon. Maybe you’ll be up for helping out with the nightshift afterward?” While they would have preferred to let new people adjust before being thrown into night shifts, help was sorely needed. It was kind of why he was here. And he was, after all, a robot, so it shouldn’t be a problem.

“Of course!” Jon’s smile brightened at that.

“Man, I wish more people had your enthusiasm when it comes to night shifts,” B.J. stated, shaking his head in wonder. “Well, we’ll see you around. Do you remember the way to the Swamp?”

“Yes, I remember,” Jon nodded. “Thank you!” Before they could ask what exactly he was thanking them for, the robot gave them a smile and headed towards the tent. 

“He’s an odd one,” B.J. commented. 

“Right?” Hawkeye grinned. “I like him!”


	2. He ain't heavy

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to everyone who has read the story, left kudos and commented, I really appreciate the support! :) 
> 
> Here's the second chapter, this time written from Charles Winchester's perspective. Despite his quirks, I quite like his character, and I'm not sure I did him justice.. But it was fun to write at least. I hope you enjoy!

Major Charles Winchester was not in a good mood. Tired from working almost the entire night before, and then the whole day in the O.R, he just wanted to lie down and relax. Opting against the horrid goo that was today’s dinner, he had instead gone directly to the Swamp. There, he’d pulled on his warmest, most comfortable coat before also burying under his blanket, in an attempt to ward off the chills that ravaged his body. It didn’t do much. Just the sound of the howling winds outside made it seem much colder. 

After twisting and turning on his bed in a futile attempt to rest his eyes, he had to finally give up. Grumpily pushing the blanket aside, groaning as it aggravated his headache, he started searching through his records. Music was a blessing in this wretched hole of a place, and right now he needed something soothing.  


Unfortunately, his roommates had no respect for proper music. Or culture in general, really. On any occasion Charles let his beloved record player sing, they would either complain or try to drown out the sounds by shouting to each other. Few things aggravated Charles more. They had their ways of coping. Was it so hard to understand, or at the very least respect, that he had his own? A tiny voice at the back of his mind, which had grown steadily more present as his time here passed, reminded him that he hadn’t tried very hard respecting their ways either. He chose, as usual, to ignore it.

Settling at last on one of Mozart’s piano concertos, he settled back under the blanket to relax. He had just started to tune out his surroundings and feel somewhat warm again, when the door opened and someone entered. It wasn’t Pierce or Hunnicutt, seeing as they seemed to insist on announcing their presence. Loudly. Nor was it O’Reilly, for he would usually stutter out some apology or excuse as to why he was there.

With an annoyed sigh, he realized he would have to return to the real word, opening his eyes. Sitting up, he turned to glare at the intruder, hoping that might be enough to scare them away and leave him alone. Instead, he saw the strange robot that seemed to have been sent to the 4077th straight out of a science fiction novel. It – he had stopped inside the door, apparently not even noticing the death-glare sent his way. His eyes – or whatever his creator had used to imitate eyes – were transfixed on the record player. 

Charles honestly wasn’t sure what to make of him. He hadn’t spoken with him at all, only watching him bustle about during the rush of wounded, admittedly efficient. Honestly, he had been perfectly content with not interacting too much with him. Instead he could try to get used to the idea of working with a sentient machine, from a safe distance. Besides, Pierce already seemed to have pulled the strange little robot under his wing, unsurprisingly. Charles almost found it strange that the man was nowhere to be seen at the moment.

“Can I help you?” he decided eventually to speak up, when it became apparent that the other wasn’t about to say anything. Then felt slightly guilty when the robot jumped at the sound of his sharp tone. As much as people seemed to think he took pleasure from making others miserable, that was usually not the case. But he was also in no mood to be dealing with people at the moment. Even more so robot people that he didn’t understand.

“I… I’m s-sorry, sir! I just- um…” Charles noted the stammer with begrudging curiosity, watching as the robot took a few steps away, almost subconsciously. His voice was quiet as he continued, barely heard over the music. “Hawk- Captain Pierce said I could stay here, I was just going to relax. I didn’t mean to intrude!”

Charles couldn’t help but grumble out, “Oh, of course he did. I hardly expected him to show the decency of asking first, but he could at the very least have informed me.” 

“I’m sorry, sir, I can leave…”

“Nonsense,” Charles bit out despite the meaner part of his brain insisting that perhaps that would have been a good idea. “You have been invited to stay here. Far be it for me to toss you out into the cold.” He imagined the robot wouldn’t have many other places to go. “Where are you planning to rest? I don’t see another bed in here?”

The robot blinked, as if he had fully expected to be locked out of the tent. “That chair, sir,” he said finally, pointing the uncomfortable-looking chair commonly used for poker nights. Charles’ eyebrows rose on his forehead. 

“That chair.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Why, are we short of beds?” It wasn’t like he cared too much about the other’s comfort. After all, it was a machine, and might not even need sleep for all he knew. Still, he was raised a gentleman, and as such he felt a little appalled at the lack of hospitality that came along with a lack of bed.

“No, sir, they offered me one. But it’s better for my voi- my boiler not to lie down for too long.” The switch of words was automatic. It did not go unnoticed, but Charles decided he didn’t care enough to ask. His headache seemed to grow worse just thinking about all the questions that came with a machine that looked, talked and acted like a human being. It was a marvel of a creation, there was no denying that. Still, although he wouldn’t go as far as Margaret had, to call it an act against God, there certainly was something about it that made him a little uncomfortable.

“If you insist,” Charles sighed, deciding that he didn’t want to deal with this right now. Any of it. “I am going to close my eyes now, and continue shutting out the world in favour of Mozart. I am tired and in a bad mood, and while I do not object to your presence, I would greatly appreciate it if you left me in peace.”

The robot studied him for a moment before nodding silently. Walking over to the chair, he gingerly sat down. Charles did exactly as he had said and closed his eyes, attempting to the best of his ability to focus entirely on the music. It felt strange, knowing the robot was sitting there, possibly watching him, but eventually he started to relax. 

He had almost forgotten that he wasn’t alone, when he grew aware of a soft humming. It was so quiet, he didn’t even notice that it wasn’t a part of the original music at first. When he did, he opened his eyes, and looked towards the door. No one else had entered. He turned his attention towards the only possible source, disbelief rendering him speechless.

The robot was smiling as he hummed quietly to himself, eyes closed. His body swayed in rhythm with the music, and there was no doubt he was enjoying it. On a level that Charles had never imagined a machine to be able to. Granted, he’d seen the robot at work in the OR, and wouldn’t deny the humanity of the creation. But music was something else. Music was pure emotion, expression of feelings on a deeper level. It was something that by any means should go right over the robot’s head. Yet here he was, proving Charles wrong.

“You’re humming,” he said.

The robot’s eyes opened and he looked apologetic. “Oh, I’m sorry!”

“No,” Charles said slowly. It hadn’t been his intention to scold the other. “It was merely an observation. I didn’t expect that you were built with such a function. The fact that you not only hear the music, but is able to listen to it, and enjoy it, even replicate it… it’s an astonishing feat.”

The robot looked at him for a moment, before smiling again. It was almost as though the music itself was calming to him, for he seemed much more relaxed than Charles would have expected him to be. The robot had after all shown clear signs of nervousness all day, even around those who treated him kindly.

“We weren’t originally created for war, or for medical assistance,” the robot said after a while. “P- our creator, he created us because he wanted to serenade the one he loved. He was an inventor first and foremost, so he built us, to do what he couldn’t. I think he saw other potential in us after a while, but that was his original intention, to make-”

“Music,” Charles said as it dawned on him, unintentionally finishing the robot’s sentence, as it began to make sense. “You were built to be musicians?” 

The robot nodded happily. “Yeah.”

It was a ridiculous notion. A gesture of love so grandiose that it bordered on insane. And it was clear that in his attempt to create a machine capable of making music, this man had created something much more complex. 

“When did you say you were built?” he asked.

“1896, sir.”

Charles sat up abruptly. “1896?! That’s…” He wanted to say impossible, but then, the evidence was right in front of him. He ran a hand over his head, rubbing the temple to ease the throb of pain at the sudden movement. “I can hardly believe it,” he murmured after a while. To think that someone had that kind of technology back then and used to it romance a lady, of all things. 

“Did he manage to woo her?” he asked, curious despite himself. While he didn’t consider himself a romantic man, it certainly seemed to be an interesting story.

The smile faded from the robot’s expression, however. “Miss Delilah passed away,” he said. “We never got to meet her, he was… too late.”

“I see,” Charles didn’t know why he felt so disheartened at that. Perhaps it was due to the genuine sorrow on the robot’s face. “I’m sorry to hear that.”

The two of them sat in silence after that, as the music kept filling the air around them. It would be a perfectly good excuse to lie back down and try once again to block out the world. Yet, for some reason, Charles found that he didn’t want to. The longer he sat there, the more he wanted to ask, wanted to know more. 

“How is your headache, sir…?” the question was timid, as though the robot didn’t know if he was allowed to speak or not. Charles was the one who’d asked him to leave him alone after all. 

“How did you know I have a headache?” he asked before he could stop himself. It was a silly question, really. It should be obvious that he was in here like this because he wasn’t feeling well. Perhaps he’d just gotten so used to people assuming he was simply being cold and anti-social, that a question about his well-being seemed highly unusual. “You don’t need to answer that,” he waved absent-mindedly as the robot seemed about to list the symptoms he’d noticed. “I’ll be just fine. Just… too much work, too little rest, that’s all.”

“I understand.” Only now did it occur to Charles that the quiet, soft tone of voice the robot had used ever since he’d arrived might be consideration rather than anxiousness. He’d seemed more chipper when Charles heard him speak earlier that day. 

“Do you, now?” Charles snorted, not out of ill intentions, though it might seem that way. He just found it funny to hear a robot sympathize so easily with something that was a rather human affliction. A quiet voice at the back of his mind whispered that this kind of automatic response was exactly why many found him condescending. He ignored it.

The robot’s head tilted slightly, but he didn’t say anything at first. Instead, he smiled. “I’m sorry, I’m disturbing your rest. Do you want me to be quiet?”

Charles regarded him curiously. Why was it that this robot, so easily frazzled by other people, especially those with a high rank or power, seemed so at ease in his company? Others would have left or tuned him out by now, leaving him to his grumbling and self-pity.

He saw the robot take his silence as a confirmative reply, turning his gaze to the music player and swaying slightly in rhythm with the notes filling the air. Yet another chance to back out and leave the conversation as brief as it had been. Instead, Charles moved so he was sitting a little more comfortably, pulling his blanket further around himself for warmth.

“Tell me… what was he like, your creator? I find it hard to wrap my head around a man who could create something like you.”

The robot seemed surprised at being addressed again. His blue eyes shone slightly in the dim light. Or perhaps it was his enthusiasm shining through, for he needed no further incentive to start talking about the man named Peter A. Walter the first, and how he and the other robots had come to be.

He was a little hesitant at first, but before long he was speaking with his entire body, hands gesturing and curls moving about like they had a mind of their own. And Charles, to his astonishment, was enthralled. He had always had a soft spot for storytelling, and there was no doubt that the robot was a good storyteller. While his anecdotes were a little all over the place at times, he described the people and the environment in such vivid detail. Details that most wouldn’t think of adding, thinking them unimportant.

As the story progressed, however, Charles had a feeling that the history of the Walters would be just as fascinating if someone else had spoken about them. It had almost theatrical elements to it. Two men of science, rivals battling for the love of one lady, who didn’t love either of them… Most of this happened before the robots were created, but it made sense that he would speak about it. If not for Delilah, and her death, there would be no robots. If not for Delilah, Colonel Walter the first would not be who he was. And, for better and for worse, it was clear that he loved his creator and who he was. The kind of forgiving, idolizing love that a child would have for his father.

The man had his flaws, that much was clear from the stories. Colonel Walter sounded like a man who put his work above most other things, and while he did appear to care for his creations, Charles couldn’t help but wonder to what extent. Couldn’t help but wonder if he realized how much the robots loved him in return.

As he listened to the robot talk about a lady he called Miss Iris, who apparently bore the Colonel’s children – which in turn inspired him to marry her – Charles realized that his headache was almost forgotten. Despite his passion for the subject, the robot’s voice never rose to be more than pleasantly soothing.

Despite himself, he found himself easing back on his pillow. Mozart had at some point stopped playing, but that seemed strangely unimportant. He listened as the other spoke fondly about the first time they were presented to the public, under their new name. He let out a quiet chuckle at that. “Steam Man Band. That’s fitting. I bet it captured the public’s interest.”

He could almost hear the smile in the robot’s voice. “People seemed to like it. And they seemed to like us, once we started singing and playing. I suppose we didn’t seem so scary when we made music.”

“Yes, music is strange like that,” Charles murmured drowsily. Despite it all, he could feel himself starting to fall asleep. It was terribly rude, falling asleep mid-conversation, but he’d been up most of the previous night and hard at work all day. Surely that was a good enough excuse.

“Would you…” the robot paused uncertainly.

“Hm? Would I what?”

“Would you mind if I sang a few of our songs?”

Charles shook his head. “I don’t mind.”

The tent was silent for a while, and Charles had almost drifted off completely when he heard a quiet song fill the air. Close to sleep as he was, the lyrics didn’t make much sense to him. He did, however, get the feeling that the song was important somehow. It seemed like the kind of song that should be upbeat and cheerful. And yet, something about the way the robot sang it made his heart ache, even as it lulled him into dreamless slumber.

 

Apparently, he had been more exhausted than he thought, because when he awoke again it was dark. Confused and blurry-eyed, he lifted his head to see Pierce and Hunnicutt in their respective beds. Pierce, twisting and turning. Hunnicutt sleeping like a rock, head buried so far under his blanket that his toes poked out on the other end. A gust of wind rattled the door, and the toes disappeared under the blanket with the rest of the man.

Charles resisted the urge to groan. If only he could have slept until morning. Lying back down, he closed his eyes and tried his very best to pretend he was still sleepy. It was, of course, pointless. The cold seemed even more biting now, despite the blanket and the coat he was already wearing. The longer he lay there, the colder and more restless he felt. And the longer he lay there, the more he felt like something wasn’t quite right.

After several minutes of trying to ignore it, he sighed and sat up. Ran a hand over his head, feeling the hair he still had sticking out in the back and attempting to neaten it somewhat. It took him a few minutes before he remembered how he’d fallen asleep. The robot must think him rude. He looked towards the chair, expecting him to be there still. He wasn’t.

Where would he go at this hour? Charles was under the impression that he was reluctant to go anywhere unless given permission, afraid to overstep his boundaries. Not that it was any of Charles’ business what he was doing or where he was. Nor was it his responsibility to look out for a machine that could clearly take care of itself, having existed for this long. Still, he couldn’t shake the strange feeling that something was off. Somehow the robot’s absence only made it all the more prominent.

Rising from his bed, Charles wished he had even more warm clothes to put on. Unfortunately, he was already wearing several layers, including his jacket. So, with a resigned sigh, he put on his boots and left the tent for the first location he could think of. After all, if there was one thing the robot seemed eager to do when he was here, it was the job he’d been called in for in the first place.

The temperature in post-op was a relief compared to the outside, seeing as the patients required as much warmth as they could get. The lights were dimmed and most were sleeping peacefully. He found Margaret leaning back in a chair, looking through some papers. More specifically, she was holding the papers as though she was looking through them, but her eyes were distant, lost somewhere else entirely.

“Evening, major,” Charles said, straightening and hoping he didn’t look as though he hadn’t just gotten out of bed – even though he had. “Or should I say morning, perhaps.”

She jumped, papers curling in her hands. “Charles…” She sent him a tired look. “What are you doing up already? I expected you to be out like a light until morning.”

“Believe me, I would much rather be,” he said. As he spoke, his gaze moved about the room and the patients. Looking for anyone in distress, anything that might explain the strange feeling he’d had since he woke. Searching for curly hair and kind, glowing eyes by one of the beds. Listening for humming or comforting words. 

All was silent. Peaceful. He wasn’t aware that he was frowning until he heard Margaret say something. “I’m sorry, what?”

Her expression shifted into something between amusement and irritation. “I was saying that everything’s calm here. The patients are stable, most sleeping quite fitfully, despite their injuries.”

“I see, that’s good,” he said, nodding as though that was exactly why he was there.

“You know, you look a bit like that robot did when he came in here earlier.” 

Charles blinked, looking at her sharply. She didn’t seem to notice, expression far-away. “He said he was here to help out, but he looked worried, and uneasy. I suppose it could be because of my attitude earlier, but somehow, I’m not sure that’s all it was.” She leaned back in her chair, stretching with a yawn. “Things were calm here, so I told him it was okay to leave about half an hour ago or so. He still looked worried, though. Asked me if I was sure someone wasn’t hurt. Then you come in, looking just as worried as he did.”

Charles scoffed. “Why would I be worried? Don’t be ridiculous.” She merely shrugged at that, like she found it pointless to argue her point. He tried not to let frustration seep into his voice, but the words came out clipped anyway, “well, if everything’s calm here, I believe I shall head back to bed until morning. Goodnight, major.”

“Come on, Charles, you seemed like you came here for a reason?” she looked at him, and Charles tried to ignore the way it reminded him of a patient mother arguing with a petulant child. He could leave, and not breathe a word about the reason he was here. A reason that sounded silly enough in his own mind, even without speaking it. Something about what she had said, however, stopped him.

The robot had asked if anyone was hurt. Had looked worried. And try as he might to brush that away as odd robot behaviour, Charles found that he couldn’t. So, he took a breath, tried to sound neutral.

“You didn’t happen to see where he went, did you?”

“Who?”

“The robot.”

“Why?”

“Would you like to add a ‘how’ there as well, and perhaps a ‘when’ and ‘where’ to complete the list of one-word questions?” 

She took his sarcasm in stride, simply looked as though she couldn’t comprehend what reason he would have to look for the robot. “No, I didn’t see where he went,” she said. “I asked him why he thought someone was hurt, but he didn’t really have an answer. Just said he had a bad feeling.”

A bad feeling. Like the one Charles had, perhaps? If that was the case, where would he go after he left, if not back to the tent? 

“Why are you looking for the robot? Afraid he’s doing something he shouldn’t?”

“No,” Charles was a little stunned at his own automatic reply. But it was a truthful response, because he could hardly imagine the robot doing anything except the best he could for those around him. Perhaps that’s exactly why he had this bad feeling. Because, if the robot was worried, who was to say he didn’t have a reason to be?

“Charles…?”

“Hm?”

“You think something’s wrong?”

He blinked, looked at her, and noted the way she too was starting to look alarmed. Shaking his head, he forced his shoulders down. Forced a smile. “No, it’s probably nothing. I suppose the amount of work these past few days has put me on edge. I’m going back to bed. I’ll see you later, major.”

She didn’t look like she believed him, but nodded. “Alright… Good night.”

He left post-op, but didn’t head back to the Swamp. Instead, he marched off in the direction of where Klinger would be patrolling right now. He found him hugging his weapon, trying to stay warm. His large nose was just about the only thing poking out from beneath the fur coat and the scarf he had wrapped around his head. There seemed to be nothing wrong with his hearing, however, for he suddenly whirled around, pointing the rifle as he squinted through the darkness.

“Halt, who goes there?”

“Relax, Klinger, it’s just me.”

The rifle fell. “Oh, major. That’s good, I think my hands are too cold to point this thing for long.” While the sentence wasn’t very reassuring coming from someone supposed to guard the compound, Charles felt a wave of sympathy for the frozen man. He didn’t let it show on his face, focused instead on his reason for being here.

“Klinger, you didn’t happen to see the robot in the past thirty minutes or so?”

“Who, Jon?” he asked, as if there were any other humanoid robots wandering the compound, “As a matter of fact, I did see him. He scared me just as much as I scared him, probably, I don’t expect anyone else to be out in this cold, you know? But I guess the cold wouldn’t bother him too much, since he’s not really human and-”

“Yes, yes,” Charles cut him off somewhat impatiently, “but did you see where he went?”

“I’m not sure, he passed here a few times after that. I think the last time I saw him, he headed that way, but I could be wrong.” Klinger pointed towards the edge of the compound. There was nothing to be found that way, except desolate terrain, the occasional farm or hut, and miles and miles of empty road before reaching any desirable destination.

“Why would he go that way?”

“Beats me,” Klinger shrugged. 

“You didn’t think to ask?” 

“I did ask, major! But he didn’t have an answer, just looked at me like the words were stuck in his throat or something.”

Charles huffed, not bothering with a goodbye before heading in the direction Klinger had pointed. The corporal hadn’t been wrong. The robot was there, standing a short distance from the last tents, his back almost disappearing in the darkness. Approaching him, Charles was vaguely aware that Klinger was following him, probably curious about what was going on.

He opened his mouth to call out, but came up short. It wasn’t his style to call others by their first names, except on the rare occasion where surnames and rank seemed too cold, too distant, even for him. But the robot had no last name. Nor did he have a rank, apparently. As it turned out, he was saved the effort, because Klinger had seen him too.

“Hey, Jon!” No response, even when Klinger repeated the name, slightly louder in case the wind was making it hard to hear.

The two of them reached the robot, and there was something about how still he was, how tense that back was, that made Charles shiver. He didn’t turn around, and when they finally did reach him, Charles saw that his eyes were closed. His expression was not peaceful, however, but deeply concentrated.

“Jon? What’s going on, buddy?” Klinger reached out and put a hand on Jon’s shoulder. “You okay?” Still no reaction. Klinger looked at Charles, as if expecting him to have an answer. “Is he… he’s not broken down or anything, right?”

“I’m all right.” The answer startled them both, despite the softness of it, not much more than a whisper. “I’m listening. Someone’s… I think someone’s there.” His eyes opened, but were still distant, as if trying to focus on something far away.

“What do you mean?” Charles asked quietly. When he didn’t get a response, he tried to formulate it differently. “What can you hear?”

“Crying… someone’s hurt… and scared, but there’s… I don’t know…” He finally turned to look at Charles, and his expression was almost pleading now, desperate for someone to understand. For someone to do something. “They’re out there. I need to find them. Help them. Someone’s got to!”

Charles met his eyes, saw nothing but honesty and a desire to help. Then looked out into the darkness, thought about anyone being out there in this weather, hurt or lost. Thought about the feeling that had lingered in his gut since he woke up. “How far? Can you tell?”

“I… I don’t know… Not too far, I think… But they won’t make it here on their-” he broke off, winced, hands going to his ears like he’d heard something he’d rather not. A strange sound seemed to press itself up from his throat, almost like a whimper.

“Klinger, get a jeep, alert the Colonel.” Charles didn’t know what he was saying, turning to address the robot, “I’m getting a medical bag, just… wait. Alright?”

“M-major?” Klinger stared at him, like he had suddenly sprouted a third eye in the middle of his forehead. 

“Now, Klinger!” He didn’t bother saying anything more, heading instead to find the nearest medical bag he could find. He heard more than saw Klinger scurry away and hoped the robot would do as he was told and wait.

He did. And the look he gave Charles when he returned with the bag was filled with utter relief. “Lead the way, Jon,” Charles said, figuring that Klinger would catch up with the vehicle and further assistance soon enough. 

It was absolutely ridiculous, and he found himself wondering, as the two of them walked briskly down the road, if this place had finally succeeded in driving him to madness. If someone would end up finding his dead body by the road, frozen or shot to pieces by snipers. And yet, somehow, it felt like the right thing to do. 

Jon stayed a few feet ahead of him, pausing occasionally to listen, before continuing. It felt a bit like following a hunting dog on a trail. Even more so when Jon suddenly stopped and pointed. “There, major!”

Charles saw the soldier sitting in the middle of the road too, kneeling like one would in a church perhaps. Jon, who had broken into a jog, had already reached him, and the man was staring at him, red-faced and wide-eyed. It wasn’t until Charles reached him that he realized the red was blood, and his face was smeared in it. Doctor training kicking in and forcing down the shock at the rather gruesome sight, he started searching for wounds. No head wounds. In fact, he looked unharmed apart from obvious shock and confusion. 

“Were there others with you?” Charles asked, tone harder than he’d intended. It did, however, succeed in bringing the man’s attention to him, his gaze slow and flickering before he finally focused on Charles. 

“We… I… robot…”

“Yes, yes, he’s a robot, please focus. Were there others?”

“No… yeah, he was… the c-car crashed… the mine… They’re still…”

Charles frowned, trying to piece together the jumble of jumbled speech, hard to understand due to the cold, or perhaps shock.

“Are you hurt?”

“N-no, sir, it’s… Phillips, he… too close to the blast.” 

Charles nodded tersely. “Alright… Someone’s coming to help soon. Stay here, it won’t be long.”

“I w-was trying to… wanted to get help…”

“Yes, I understand,” Charles put a hand on his shoulder, giving it a slight squeeze. “You were almost at the compound. You did good.” The man’s wild eyes seemed to calm slightly, and he nodded. Was still nodding to himself as Charles and Jon continued down the road. He hated leaving the man behind alone, but there were still others somewhere, and they might be hurt worse. 

It felt like they walked for a long time, the mood tense and silent. He had almost begun wondering if it really was too far to reach by foot, when Jon suddenly froze again. His mouth parted in a silent ‘oh’ or maybe a ‘no’, and then, before Charles could ask, he suddenly took off at a run.

“What the-” Charles tried his best to keep up, cursing his own lungs, which were already complaining from the cold air and brisk tempo. Thankfully, he didn’t have to run for long. He saw Jon disappear around a bend in the road, and heard him let out a startled cry. Forcing his legs to cooperate, he soon rounded the bend as well, and came to a stop.

Jon had fallen to his knees next to three other figures, one of which was lying on the road, one kneeling and the third leaning tiredly against the kneeling one, clearly tired, but awake.

“Major! He’s not breathing right!” Jon called out, his eyes trained on the man lying on his back, and Charles was quick to approach them. It wasn’t until he knelt beside them that he realized Jon was clutching the hand of the kneeling man. A glance up at the man’s face made him breath in sharply. He had a metal face, though quite unlike Jon’s, rusted and oxidized. Rather than hair, he had a black piece of cloth tied around his head. If his eyes had been open, Charles knew they would shine in the darkness, just like Jon’s.

Pushing away the shock, Charles turned his focus to the most pressing matter at hand; the young man lying on the ground. With a trained eye, he took note of the desperate heaves of the man’s chest, rolling eyes, blue lips, rapid heart rate. Checked his throat for blockages, finding nothing. Jon had reluctantly let go of the other robot, and was already opening the man’s coat and shirt, showing a badly bruised chest. 

“His lung’s punctured. We’ll need to insert a chest tube,” Charles said, realizing that Jon was already handing him the necessary equipment as he spoke. It was easy to forget that the robot had worked to save lives in the field in two wars already.

They worked swiftly after that, and although it was a tricky thing to do in the dim light, they were thankfully able to stabilize him without further complications. Soon, the soldier seemed to relax a bit, breathing righting itself as much as it could around the tube that did its job draining the air and inflating the lung.

“Will he be okay…?” Charles looked at the other soldier, who up until now had been silent. He looked like he could fall unconscious any moment, leaning against the unmoving robot like he couldn’t support his own weight. 

“He’s stable, for now,” Charles said. “Are you hurt?”

“My… leg’s broken, I think. Can’t really feel it anymore, though.”

“What happened?” Charles moved to look at the man’s leg, finding it white and bloodless. A bad break, possibly further damage. Someone had already done what they could to splint and stabilize the leg before wrapping it in what looked to be a scarf to keep it warm in the absence of the missing boot. Still, he would need to get into surgery soon, or he might lose it. 

“We hit a mine and crashed. Sam, Sam Phillips, was driving. He didn’t make it. None of us would, if this guy hadn’t been there,” he glanced up at the robot, expression drowsy. “he practically carried us, we’ve been walking for… hours, it seems like. I couldn’t have done that on my own, not with this leg.”

“Why isn’t he moving?” Jon asked softly. 

“I’m not sure. He always was a jittery fellow, but a few days ago he started having trouble walking straight, and stuttered worse than normal. Said it was just the cold, though. He was on the side of the blast, but I didn’t think he got hurt. Then, not too long ago, he just… collapsed, sort of. Stopped responding.”

Charles watched silently as Jon leaned forward, putting his head against the other robot’s chest and closing his eyes. “Maybe he’s just powered down…” he murmured, almost to himself. “It happens sometimes if our systems overload or if something inside’s damaged.”

“Did you know he was here?” Charles asked, thinking about how Jon had somehow known about these men. It didn’t seem too farfetched to think that the robots had some way of communicating across distances.

Jon straightened, and seemed to consider this question. “No…” he said eventually, shaking his head slowly. “I thought perhaps I heard him earlier, but then it was silent again so I assumed it was just wishful thinking. I had a bad feeling, though, and heard someone crying.”

The soldier glanced down. “That would be Justin,” he nodded towards the one with the hurt chest. “Kept crying, said his chest hurt. Broken ribs maybe. God… he just got here a few days ago.”

“Well, let’s hope those days won’t be his last,” Charles said, silently cursing the army. If the kid was lucky, he would survive and be sent back home without seeing too much of the war. Most likely, however, he’d be sent back to fight some more.

“What’s your name?” Jon asked suddenly, voice slightly louder than before, and Charles looked up to see the soldier with the broken leg open his eyes abruptly, as if he was about to fall asleep until Jon’s voice startled him.

“Darryl,” he said. “Darryl Hawkins.” He blinked drowsily before reaching out a hand. Rather than shaking it, Jon took it gingerly in both of his, holding on to it.

“You’ll be okay, Darryl,” he said.

Hawkins looked almost confused. “Y-yeah, I know, I’m-”

“You don’t have to pretend, it’s okay to be scared.” Jon looked strangely serious. “You were trying to stay strong, right? For Justin?” Hawkins stared at him, eyes wide. Then, to Charles’ astonishment, the calm expression he’d been sporting so far trembled. Gave way to a deep-set anxiety that made his lips wobble and his eyes shimmer.

“M-my leg… I can’t feel it… can’t stop thinking I’m going to lose it,” he said, voice breaking as a few tears slipped down his cheek. Jon held his hand gently and let him cry, let him express the fear that he’d tried to repress. 

“Help is almost here,” Jon said, “And they’re really good doctors. You’ll be okay.” He sounded so sure. Charles wished he could believe that as whole-heartedly as Jon seemed to, and hoped it wouldn’t be an empty promise. But it seemed to do the trick in comforting Hawkins, because he smiled shakily and nodded.

As it turned out, Jon was right. Just seconds later, the sound of a car engine approaching made them all look up. Rising to his feet, Charles was relieved to see the car coming around the bend, recognizing Klinger at the wheel. He pulled the car to a halt next to them, and Pierce and Colonel Potter jumped out almost before he had had stopped the car.

The colonel looked somewhat disgruntled but not too severe as his gaze took in the scene before him. “As your commanding officer, I should be telling you off for leaving on your own,” he said as a way of greeting, “but as a doctor, I’m damn glad you didn’t wait.” His eyes landed on the second robot, and his eyes widened. “Well I’ll be damned…”

“One of your brothers?” Pierce asked, though it was more of a statement than a question. It wasn’t as though there were many robots roaming the country.  
Jon nodded. “This is Rabbit. The oldest,” he said. 

“Is he okay?” Pierce looked concerned, and Charles couldn’t blame him. Jon seemed calm enough, but Charles didn’t miss the fact that he hesitated before answering.

“I don’t know… I hope so.” The small robot didn’t comment any further on the matter, rising instead to his feet. “This is Darryl and Justin. I’ll help you get them into the car.” 

It didn’t take long to get the two soldiers into the vehicle, though finding comfortable positions for them was a bit trickier. The car wasn’t exactly built for comfort but for quick and relatively safe transportation. Once they were in, Charles could tell that finding room for more was out of the question. Especially if they meant to pick up the final soldier and Hunnicutt, who had apparently stayed with him. There was no way Jon and the other robot would fit. 

“We’ll come back for you,” Pierce began, but Jon shook his head with a small smile.

“It’s okay, s- Hawkeye. I can carry him. It’s not too far.”

“Really?” Colonel Potter looked sceptical, “no offence, son, but he looks quite a bit taller and sturdier than you are…”

“I’ve done it before. I’m kinda strong, even though I don’t look like it.” Jon straightened like he was trying to seem stronger and more confident than he was. 

“You should get these men back, they are in dire need of medical care,” Charles suddenly found himself saying, “I’ll walk back with him.” Several pairs of eyes turned to stare at him, making him bristle. “Don’t look at me like that, the car hardly has room for more passengers.” 

“Well, I was kind of waiting for you to demand the best spot, making someone else walk,” Pierce said. Charles glared at him, about to say something when he noticed the look in the other doctor’s eyes. Curiosity, or perhaps begrudging respect. He settled for a disgruntled sound, shoving his hands in the pockets of his coat. 

“Alright, if you’re sure,” Colonel Potter said, settling in to make sure their patients didn’t fall off. “I expect you all back, safe and sound. Let’s go, Klinger, step on it.”

They drove off, leaving Charles in the biting cold, wondering what the hell he was doing. A small part of him regretted not going with them, back to relative warmth and light and safety. Gazing after them, somewhat longingly, he resisted the sigh that wanted to press forth.

“You… you didn’t have to stay, sir,” he heard Jon say quietly. He turned around, a retort ready on his tongue. An excuse as to why he’d stayed, one that wouldn’t make him look like an emotional fool.

Any words he might have had died on his lips, because suddenly he found himself with an armful of robot, curls tickling his neck as Jon hugged him tightly. He was trembling, and Charles wondered if he was imagining the sniffle he heard. Surely there would be no point making a robot who could cry. Still, Jon’s voice was thick with emotion as he mumbled out a soft “thank you for staying,” against the collar of his coat.

Instinct made him want to push him away, screaming at him that this was too close, too personal. For some reason, however, he was reminded of his sister, Honoria. The way she had always ignored the emotional distance the rest of his family valued so highly and had come to him for comfort and closeness. The words Jon had said to Hawkins suddenly made sense. He’d recognized the man’s pretences because he too tried to be stronger than he felt. Now that the soldiers were gone, the bravado seemed to have left him. 

Lifting a hand, somewhat awkwardly, Charles gave the robot a few pats on the back, clearing his throat uncomfortably. “A-alright now, let’s get going, shall we?” He tried to sound calm, and neutral. Jon pulled back and nodded. He wasn’t crying, Charles saw, but his eyes shone with relief and gratitude as he smiled.

“You’re a good man, sir.”

Charles wanted to laugh at that, much more used to harsh comments or ridicule than honest compliments. “And you’re a strange robot,” he said, but a smile twitched at his lips. It came out warmer, kinder than he’d intended, so he cleared his throat again and nodded towards the second robot. “You uh… you’re sure you can carry him? I’m afraid I won’t be of much help.”

Jon didn’t look entirely sure, even though he nodded. Walking over, he crouched down in front of the other, grabbing his shoulders. “Rabbit?” he said, rather loudly. “Rabbit, I know you hate being carried, so I’m giving you the option now to wake up and walk on your own!” No response, although it didn’t seem he’d been expecting one. “Well, don’t say I didn’t warn ya…”

Positioning himself in front of the other, he used his body and momentum to tip Rabbit’s body over his shoulders in something of a fireman’s carry, trying to get one arm and one leg in front of his shoulders. Charles stepped forward, trying to help the best he could to allow Jon to get a proper hold.

It looked a little ridiculous. Rabbit was quite a bit taller than Jon, possibly as tall as Charles was when standing to full height. He was also wider and looked heavier. Jon didn’t complain, though, simply looked determined. 

“You should step back a bit, sir,” he said, glancing up at Charles, “in case I stumble.”

Charles did as he was asked and tried not to think about how impossible it looked to even get up to a standing position like that. Jon nodded once, braced himself and pushed off the ground with a grunt. He did stumble, and it was a slow process, trying to find his balance while simultaneously getting into a standing position. The added weight was obvious in the tremble of his body, and Charles was sure he heard something pop and groan inside the metal body.

He wasn’t aware that he was holding his breath until Jon finally stood, somewhat stable, and he let it out in a relieved sigh. 

Jon gave him a somewhat strained smile. “I’m ready. Shall we go, sir?”

Charles couldn’t help it, he let out a chuckle. “I must say, I’m impressed,” he said, shaking his head. Jon’s smile widened, as if to say ‘I told you I could do it’.

The journey back, while it took longer than their walk there due to the slower pace, wasn’t as difficult as Charles might have imagined. In fact, once Jon got to his feet, he hardly showed signs of the weight he was carrying at all apart from the careful steps he took. He was quiet, but that might be because of the weight of the situation rather than the weight of the robot. The fact remained that Rabbit, his brother, was unconscious, and they had yet to figure out why.

By the time they reached the compound, the sun had just started peaking over the mountains in the distance. Its golden rays danced across the golden brass of Jon’s face as he stopped and looked towards it. Charles couldn’t help but think he looked a bit like an old and regal statue, standing still the way he was. Strong and proud and timeless.

Then, as with an exhausted marathon runner crossing the finish line, his feet buckled. Charles leapt away as the two robots crashed to the ground in a heap of metal limbs. “My goodness, are you all right?” he asked, startled.

An arm extended with some difficulty from where it was trapped, giving a thumbs up. “Just lost my balance,” Jon said. “Rabbit’s kind of big.”

“You don’t say,” Charles said, relieved that the other wasn’t damaged.

“I re-re-resent that,” a third voice suddenly joined in, quiet and stuttering, like it took a great deal of effort just to get words out. “I a-a-ain’t… big, you’re ju-just tiny.”

“Rabbit!” Jon sat up abruptly, fuelled by shock and excitement. In doing so, he unwittingly pushed the other off of himself, and Rabbit gave a small grunt as he rolled over on his back beside his brother. A pair of mismatched eyes, one green and one blue, blinked drowsily as the robot gave a small ‘ow’. “Oh, Rabbit! Rabbit!” Jon didn’t seem able to say much more, throwing himself at his brother to give him a hug.

“H-hey there, buddy,” Rabbit smiled tiredly, lifting an arm, as if to hug him back. He abandoned the attempt soon after, letting the arm drop to the ground again. 

“I missed you!” 

“I missed you too, the Jon,” The emotion in his voice was obvious, and Charles couldn’t help but wonder how long it was since they’d seen each other. If they had all been somewhere in Korea, sent from place to place while missing each other entirely. For years, maybe.

Jon straightened, ending the hug reluctantly, and just stared at his brother for a moment, like he couldn’t quite believe he was there. Then he seemed to remember the situation and noticed the fact that the other had still made no move to get up. “Are you hurt?”

Rabbit shrugged weakly. “Nah… nothin’ that won’t ri-ri-right itself with-with some r-r-r-rest.” Charles could see what Darryl had meant about him stuttering. The words hitched and were occasionally accompanied by other sounds, little pops and hisses here and there. “’s mostly the c-c-cold, it’s… troub-troub-troub-le… le…,” a sigh, “it’s stupid.” 

Yet again Charles was reminded of his sister, as she too had trouble communicating verbally. The frustrated expression crossing the robot’s face was very much like hers when she found herself stuck on words or sounds that just wouldn’t cooperate. While their reasons for stuttering might be different, one being human and the other a machine, it seemed to evoke the same feelings in both of them.

“I assume it would help to be inside then?” Charles said, huddling further into his own coat. “I, for one, would very much welcome the warmth. Are you able to stand if Jon helps you?” Rabbit turned to him, as if realizing only now that he was there. He said nothing, though, simply stared. “Or if you’d rather stay here and freeze that is, of course, entirely your choice,” Charles continued, sarcasm forcing its way out to combat the awkward silence.

“No, I uh… warmth w-w-would be… good…”

“That’s settled then,” he nodded, turning once again to Jon who nodded.

“Come on, Rabbit, up you go.” In yet another show of his inhuman strength, Jon managed to pull Rabbit to his feet. It seemed a little easier now that the other was at least conscious and able to move his limbs to help. It was clear, however, that Rabbit was in no way able to stand on his own. Jon frowned as he tried to keep the other on his feet. “Are you sure you’re not hurt?”

“I’m fi-fi-fine!” the sentence was punctuated by suddenly tipping to one side, and Jon struggled not to be pulled along. “Well… gy-gyrostabilizers might be a b-bit wonky…” Rabbit admitted reluctantly, clutching to Jon while simultaneously trying to look like he wasn’t dependent on his brother’s help.

“From the mine blast?” Jon asked.

“Mi-might be.”

Jon was still frowning, and it looked like he didn’t quite believe that this was the only issue. He apparently chose not to comment upon it, just hoisted the other so he was carrying more of his weight, and began trudging further into the compound. Then stopped and turned to Charles with a hesitant expression. 

“Take him to post-op,” Charles said after realizing the robot was genuinely unsure of where it would be alright to take him. “The way I see it, your brother’s in as much need of recuperation as the other soldiers.”

“Thank you, sir!” Jon’s frown lit up in a smile and he began leading Rabbit in that direction. 

Charles trailed behind them, listening with half an ear as Jon began talking quietly to the other. They were nearly at the entrance when he caught a snippet of Jon’s words. They were soft, and he had a feeling he wasn’t meant to hear them. Pushing down the ridiculous swell of emotion, he straightened and hid behind a neutral mask. The words, however, seemed to bury themselves somewhere in his chest, and gave him a slight boost to his steps.

“- Charles Winchester. He’s a major, but… he’s nice. I really like him!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! I'm not sure when the next chapter will be out or how the story will progress, but hopefully it won't be too long! Feel free to tell me your thoughts. :)
> 
> Oh, and happy new year!


	3. What makes us human

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay. Going back to work after the holidays means I don't have as much time and energy to write. I'm still having fun writing this, though this chapter was a bit harder to write than the other two. I hope you'll enjoy it! :)

Having the night shift in post-op meant you never knew what might happen. Some nights, everything was chaos. Nightmares, pain, crying, conditions worsening. There were nights where you never had a chance to sit down, nights where one person wasn’t enough. 

Margaret almost preferred those nights to nights like these. Things were perfectly calm and peaceful. The patients were sleeping, things were quiet. And Margaret, exhausted as she was from a long day and a lot of work, almost wished something would happen. Anything at all, if only to stop her from falling asleep.

It should be a welcome break from a trying week of patients coming in and nurses falling sick. And it was, she knew it was, even if she couldn’t fully appreciate it at the moment. It wasn’t as though she wished anything bad would happen. The medical and motherly side of her were both happy that everyone was doing all right. 

Still, after sitting here for hours, occupying herself with documents and patient files and equipment lists, she was slowly losing her mind.

She was at a point where she’d gladly welcome any change in the environment, when the robot appeared. He was so quiet, she didn’t hear him come in, absorbed in her own boredom as she was. Suddenly, he was standing by the door, as though he didn’t dare to enter the tent further, scaring her half to death when he spoke.

“Hello, ma’am,” he greeted her nervously, looking a little guilty when she jumped. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you.”

“No, no, it’s okay,” she said, “I was just a bit distracted, that’s all.”

Looking at his uncertain posture, she felt bad for her behaviour earlier that day. Try as she might to think him as a machine, as an idea she just couldn’t support, she found that she couldn’t. Not after spending hours with him during the rush of patients. Not after watching the way he would treat each and every patient with the utmost care, despite the fact that he would have seen hundreds, no, thousands, of wounded in his time.

“Shouldn’t you be resting?” she asked, realizing only after she spoke that she wasn’t even sure if the robot needed rest.

“Hawk- Captain Pierce asked if I could help out with the night shift.”

“Oh, right.” She looked around the tent with a sigh. “Well... I appreciate your eagerness, but there really isn’t a whole lot to do here. Everyone’s sleeping restfully.”

He shifted his weight from one leg to the other, gaze moving about the tent. He looked uneasy. “A-are you sure?” he then asked, so quietly that she barely heard him.

“Excuse me?”

“Oh, I d-didn’t mean to say that you don’t know what you’re doing, ma’am, I just…” He cut off, gaze falling to the ground. “I’m sorry. Is there anything I can do to help out?”

She studied him silently for a moment, wondering why he would question the peace that seemed so obvious. The unease didn’t leave his expression, and he was avoiding her eyes in a way he hadn’t really done earlier. Not after she’d attempted to apologize for her attitude, anyway. She had gotten the impression that he’d already forgiven her for her initial harsh judgement. 

“Would you like to see for yourself that they’re doing alright?” she asked, wondering if he was just high-strung after the intense hours in the OR earlier. It wasn’t uncommon after times of stress to feel like something still needed to be done. Even she had had days and nights where she felt like she needed to constantly reassure herself and her brain that everything truly was all right.

“Is that okay?” Finally, he looked at her, hands wringing together. He looked small, she realized. Granted, he wasn’t a big robot. Smaller than many humans even, not just in height but also in width. Somehow, though, he’d seemed taller earlier, in the heat of things. When he had a mission, a job to do, and moved efficiently through the tasks he was given.

“Sure, go ahead.” She tried for a smile and was rewarded with one in return. It didn’t quite touch his eyes, and it was strange, for it was exactly the kind of smile one might expect from a robot. She probably wouldn’t have thought about it too much if she hadn’t already witnessed the way his real smiles would light up his face.

She tried to go back to her papers but couldn’t help but follow the robot with her eyes as he moved silently from bed to bed, looking at the patients’ charts. Fascinated, she noticed the way his expression would light up with genuine relief when he looked at the more uplifting ones. Soldiers that were wounded badly enough to be sent home, but without it being life-threatening or debilitating, for example. Or soldiers who had hovered near death, only for their condition to improve and stabilize.

Sometimes she could see their names on his lips, though he didn’t make a sound, afraid to wake anyone. If one didn’t know better, one might think that each patient was a dear friend to him, someone special. 

Once he’d checked on every last patient, she gave him some rather superficial tasks simply because he still looked like he needed something to do. He did as he was told for a while, and scurried about without saying much. Answering when addressed or asked a question, but otherwise keeping to himself.

It didn’t take long before it started stressing her out. While she had initially been happy for a distraction from the monotony, this was no better. The longer Jon was there, the more his expression tightened, as though he was deeply worried about something.

As if that wasn’t disconcerting enough, every now and then he would stop. Just freeze whatever he was doing, eyes getting a vacant look about them. It was as though he completely forgot what he was doing, or where he was.

She caught him in the middle of one of these spells, staring at a list of supplies that would need to be restocked soon. He’d been staring at it for at least five minutes before she realized and called out to him.

“Jon? Jon!” 

He jumped, gaze lifting to look at her. “H-huh?”

“Are you feeling all right?” She wasn’t sure if it was a silly question, but it was a question that had been burning on her mind for quite some time now.

“I’m sorry, I… I…” once again, he stopped, and looked at her like he desperately wanted to convey something but simply couldn’t. 

She sighed softly, but smiled to show she wasn’t upset with him. Smiles were often the best way to tell him that he wasn’t in trouble, she had learnt. He didn’t always catch the nuances in sentences, sometimes misunderstanding the words, assuming their meaning to be bad. 

“Look, things are calm here,” she said, “why don’t you go get some rest?”

“But…” His mouth moved silently, as though he tried to find words, “I have a… it’s just… are you sure no one’s hurt?” 

That question again, even though he had personally gone to check every patient. If it were anyone else, she might take offence. Would perhaps feel that they were undermining her credibility and her ability to do her job. But not Jon. She knew that wasn’t how he meant it. For some reason, he was worried. She didn’t know why, and she didn’t know what she could do to help, for she had already done what she could to both reassure and distract him.

“I’m as sure as I can be, Jon. You saw for yourself, they’re resting, healing. They’ll be all right.”

He met her eyes, and she got the feeling he both believed her and, at the same time, didn’t. “Yeah… yeah, you’re probably right. Thank you, Major.”

“What for?” she asked, tilting her head slightly in response to his gentle expression. He didn’t answer, just gave a shrug and a small smile. “Alright. Good night, Jon. I hope you’ll feel better tomorrow.”

“Good night, Major Houlihan.”

She gazed after him as he turned and left the tent as silently as he’d arrived. His worried expression didn’t quite leave her mind, even as she turned back to her papers in hopes that the rest of the night would pass swiftly.

When Charles appeared about half an hour later, looking almost as frazzled and uneasy as Jon had, she started regretting her wish for something to happen. He left soon after, with a fake smile and words that were probably meant to be reassuring, leaving her with only more questions.

Time seemed to pass even slower after his departure. She couldn’t very well leave her shift, despite her curiosity and growing unease. Tried instead to focus on what she could control; the patients’ well-being. Checked everyone once again to make sure they were okay. Made sure she hadn’t missed anything.

And then, all at once, the peace and quiet was broken. Klinger popped in to inform her that they had patients and that she was needed in the OR, and she felt like she should have known. Wasn’t surprised at the sudden commotion, because she now realized that she’d had two warnings. One in the form of a frazzled robot, and one in form of a worried Charles Winchester.

 

It was hours until she re-entered post-op, having finished assisting with operating on the two soldiers. The sun had long since risen, but she just wanted to go to bed. She couldn’t quite recall when she had last gotten any sleep, but the lack of it weighed on her body and mind, now that the adrenaline was starting to run out. 

The surgeries were as successful as they could have been, and while their injuries would still need to be monitored, the doctors were very hopeful. She was relieved that they had both survived and had a high chance of getting back to full health and mobility. The third soldier had been given a bed and was treated for mild hypothermia and shock. 

The fourth person, however, was a different matter altogether. Margaret hesitated slightly before entering post-op. She had been quite surprised to hear about the fourth person surviving the mine blast. Or rather, the fact that it wasn’t a person. Not a human one, at any rate.

She didn’t know much about Jon’s origins, and knew even less about his fellow robots, the ones he called brothers. Part of her probably hadn’t wanted to know. It was difficult enough accepting that one such impossible, but undeniably fantastic, creation could exist. It was difficult accepting the humanity of him, although having spent time with him, it was also quite hard to deny it. By any means, he should have been unique, one of a kind.

And, as it turned out, he was. She discovered this when she finally took a deep breath and entered post-op. She found Jon sitting by one of the beds, a bed that was currently occupied by the other robot - Rabbit, Hawkeye had called him. The two of them couldn’t have looked less alike, Margaret thought to herself.

Where Jon was all smooth brass and fine lines, almost like a golden doll, Rabbit looked old and weathered. It was hard to tell which metal – or metals – he’d originally been made from, for his face was oxidised and tarnished by rust. It gave him a rougher appearance, somewhat intimidating even. His build only accentuated this impression. Where Jon looked almost delicate, small and nimble, Rabbit was tall and wide-shouldered. Margaret could only imagine meeting this metal man on a battlefield in the darkness. It suddenly wasn’t too hard to see why the army wanted to make use of the robots.

She shook away these thoughts, guilt gnawing at her insides. She had been told that Rabbit had tried his best to get his human companions to safety, after all. It was hardly fair to think of him as some kind of weapon for the army to use as they wished.

Jon looked up as she approached. He no longer looked as though he was expecting something terrible to happen, but some worry remained in his features. She suspected that it had something to do with the fact that the other robot lay quite still on the bed, eyes closed.

“Is he…” she started, cutting off uncertainly. She wasn’t entirely certain how to phrase the question about the robot’s well-being. The doctors had informed her that he’d been unresponsive at the scene where they’d found the soldiers.

“I think he’ll be okay, ma’am,” Jon said in response to her unfinished question. He turned to look at his brother, and she got the feeling he wasn’t entirely certain. “He was awake earlier, when we got here.”

“Oh, I’m glad to hear that,” she said, and found that she meant it.

She glanced around. Post-op was still calm, though several of the patients were now awake. A few of them were staring at the robots curiously, chatting quietly amongst themselves. Not all of them had been awake or well enough to meet Jon yet. Those who had must be surprised to wake and suddenly find two robots where there had previously been one.

Jon looked tired, somehow. While his eyes were resting on his brother’s unmoving form, his mind seemed far away. He looked like she felt. A wave of sympathy guided her down to sit at the end of the bed, hoping it would take her weight in addition to the no-doubt heavy robot. More than anything she wanted to just head to her tent to get some rest, or perhaps something to eat. A shower would be good too. But the nurse in her refused to leave before she felt everyone were taken care of.

“You knew something was wrong, when you were in here tonight.” It was more a statement than a question, but she hoped it didn’t sound accusing. 

Jon looked at her, and seemed to take a while to process her words. She waited patiently, and after a few moments of silence he shrugged. “I had a bad feeling, ma’am,” he said, “I didn’t know for sure.”

“Still, that’s pretty impressive,” Margaret said gently, “and it saved those men’s lives.”

Jon shook his head. “No… Rabbit’s the one who saved them. They went out to get the last man earlier, the one who died. The car was miles away.”

Margaret glanced down at the other robot, Rabbit, with new-found respect. She opened her mouth to say that if Jon hadn’t found them, Rabbit’s valid attempts to save the men would have been for nothing. Then closed it again. It wasn’t something Jon needed to hear, and she had the feeling that the robot wouldn’t easily accept his own role in saving them. Not right now, at any rate. “What happened to him?” she asked instead. “Was he hurt?”

“He says he’ll be fine once he gets some rest, and if the weather gets warmer…” He sounded resigned, like he was repeating something he’d been told. Something he didn’t believe.

“You think he’s hurt worse than he says?” she asked, curiously.

Jon met her eyes now, almost like he was considering whether to tell her or not. “Rabbit, he… doesn’t always tell me things. He thinks he has to protect me, I guess.”

“Ah, I see.” It was a rather human trait to have, she supposed, the instinct to protect a younger sibling. “That would make it a bit hard to believe him, wouldn’t it.”

Jon nodded. His eyes were distant again, and his shoulders slumped like he suddenly weighed more.

Margaret watched him for a moment, unable to stop the fond smile that pressed forth. “Why don’t you get some rest too, Jon? You can stay here with your brother if you like. Things are calm, so there’s no need for you to help out right now.”

“Really?” he looked up at her, surprised and then worried, like he was afraid he was being discarded as useless. He tried to straighten, but she saw the effort it took to do so. “I c-can still work, if you need me to-”

“It’s alright, Jon. Besides, I’m sure your brother would want you to take care of yourself.”

He stared at her for a moment. Trying to see if there were hidden meanings or motives behind her words, perhaps. Then he relaxed. All tension leaked out of his expression, relief taking its place. “Thank you, Major,” he murmured. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be. You’ve had a busy night, it’s perfectly okay to be tired.”

He gave her a small smile before turning his attention back to the other robot. Margaret stood and went to inform the nurses about the new patients and their needs in wake of the operations. By the time she was ready to leave the tent, Jon appeared to be sleeping. He had pulled the chair closer to the bed and seemed almost curled in on himself, eyes closed.

He was holding Rabbit’s hand, she noticed, clutching it tightly. Almost as if he was afraid that his brother would disappear while he slept, and he would wake to find himself all alone again.

She tore her gaze away and left quietly, heading to her tent to get some hours of sleep while she had the chance.

 

It was amazing what a few hours of sleep, a quick shower and some quiet time alone could do to an exhausted body. By the time dinner rolled around, she felt more like herself again. She also felt hungry enough that she could eat mostly anything that was served, though experience reminded her that she might still be disappointed.

Dressing as warmly as she could to ward off the cold, she ran across the compound to the mess tent. She could have sworn the temperatures were still dropping. It was a miracle that the soldiers that had come in hadn’t been affected more by the weather. Or perhaps it had something to do with the robot? She had noticed that Jon seemed to give off a little heat, perhaps from the machinery inside him, so it was likely that Rabbit did as well.

It was a relief to enter the mess tent, as it was at least slightly warmer than outside. She took a moment to warm herself by the oven in there before heading over to the line, just as the doctors entered the tent. She heard them complaining about the cold, and didn’t blame them one bit.

Having Hawkeye sauntering up behind her and promptly moving his arms around her was another matter entirely.

“You look cold, Major, we should huddle together for warmth.”

“Keep your hands to yourself!” she growled out, though without too much bite. She was too used to his ways to take much offence. She did have her dignity to maintain, however, and while the proximity was indeed warm, she pushed him away firmly. He did as told and removed his arms, shoving them back into his coat pockets.

He blinked innocently. “Suddenly it seems even colder in here,” he said, but his grin showed that he was in no way hurt by her attitude.

“No one’s stopping you from enjoying your food in your own tent,” she said with a roll of her eyes, grabbing a tray as the line moved along in front of her.

“Ah, that’s where you’re wrong, Major,” Charles said, “I have to share said tent with him, and I don’t want the smell of tonight’s dinner anywhere near where I have to sleep.” 

“I’d have objections to that as well,” B.J. nodded his agreement, his gaze fixed on the food with poorly hidden disgust. “What is that greenish, runny stuff? Pea soup?”

“It’s mashed potatoes,” Private Straminsky muttered as he put some of said mash potatoes on Margaret’s plate along with something she presumed to be some kind of meat. 

“Well, obviously,” Hawkeye said, looking mildly sickened.

Margaret pointedly tried to ignore the way the food sloshed on her tray as she headed over to a table as close to the heater as she could find. The others soon joined her, and if Hawkeye sat closer to her than was technically appropriate, she pretended not to notice. As long as he made no further advances or flirty comments, she would allow it, if only for the slight warmth it provided. It wasn’t as though everyone else in the tent weren’t doing the same thing.

They ate in silence for a while before the need to distract themselves from the tastes of the meal became too pressing. For a while, the conversation remained rather simple. The weather, the latest news, work, that sort of thing. Inevitably, it reached the subject that they were all undoubtedly thinking about.

“You know, Charles, I’m curious,” Hawkeye began, “I wouldn’t have expected you, of all people, to follow Jon tonight. Why didn’t you just wait for the rest of us?”

Charles gave him a pointed look. “I, of all people, am a doctor, Pierce,” he said, “and as such, I believe it’s required of me to do what I can to help.”

“Well, sure, if you knew for certain that someone needed help,” B.J. said, and he looked just as curious as Hawkeye did. Margaret couldn’t help but share their bewilderment. Charles was hardly known for his adventurous nature. Or for having blind trust in others, for that matter. Anyone would be a little hesitant following a robot simply because this robot thought someone needed help.

“I realize that it might seem strange,” Charles said after a while, and his expression was thoughtful, “but you didn’t see him last night. Well, apart from you, Margaret.”

Margaret nodded, and she did see his point. She had seen Jon. Had seen the worry in his expression, and the frantic need to find out who needed help and how he could help them. 

“I did,” she nodded. “Still, it would require some faith in him to follow him the way you did, without backup and without a vehicle.”

Charles hummed quietly. “I spoke with him briefly yesterday evening. He seems to me like a… kind and intriguing individual. I must admit, I find him rather hard to dislike.”

“You make it sound like you want to dislike him,” Hawkeye chuckled. Although, Margaret thought he seemed pleased to hear this as well, clearly not expecting it from a man who seemed insistent on pushing everyone away. Charles made no comment, but she thought his lips twitched slightly upward like he knew just as well as the rest of them how out of character this truly was for him.

“I agree, though,” B.J. added with a smile. “I haven’t talked to him a whole lot, but he is pretty likeable. I wonder if his brother’s anything like him.”

“Yeah, he wasn’t awake when I was in there earlier,” Hawkeye said. “I hope he’s okay.”

“He was awake for a while last night, when we got here,” Charles said. “I believe my presence made him somewhat nervous, so I left to let them catch up. By the time I came back, he was asleep again. Or powered down, I should say.”

“That doesn’t sound too good,” B.J. said with a mild frown. “Was he hurt by the blast?”

“He said he simply needed rest,” Charles said with a small shrug, “though I can’t help but wonder if he said that just to appease his brother.”

“Jon seemed to think so as well,” Margaret said, recalling her conversation with the robot. “He said Rabbit tends to want to protect him by not being entirely honest.”

“Perhaps we should give him a check-up?” Hawkeye suggested.

Charles raised an eyebrow, “I don’t know about you, Pierce, but I am a doctor, not a mechanic.”

“I never told you? Doctor-ing’s just my day job. And my night job,” Hawkeye quipped, before his expression turned more serious. “Look, I’m not saying we should open him up to see if his… inner working’s damaged. But we could at least talk with him. Without Jon being there.”

“That might be a good idea,” Margaret nodded, “he probably knows better how his body works and what he needs than we do, so it makes sense to talk with him.”

“Treat him like a patient, you mean,” B.J. said. As if they weren’t already doing exactly that, by discussing how best to help him. 

“The way I see it, he is,” Hawkeye stated firmly. “He came in here with the others, after being hit by the same blast they were. So far, he’s spent more time unconscious than awake, and there’s reason to believe he might be hurt.”

“And if the army wants him back in action?” Margaret asked, “I’m not sure they would be as lenient. Someone might come to find out what will happen with the four of them and if they will be able to go back.”

“The last time I saw him awake, he couldn’t even walk on his own,” Charles said. 

“We’ll just have to administer our authority as doctors, then,” Hawkeye said firmly. “And Potter’s authority as colonel, if we need to.”

Margaret wished she could believe that this would be enough. As someone who had initially been opposed to the humanity of these robots, she now found herself a little fearful of others with that exact mind set. A human, injured and unable to fight, was cared for. If they were lucky, they were sent home to be rehabilitated. A robot, seen as no more than a tool, likely wouldn’t get that kind of luxury. 

Murmurs of agreement sounded around the table, however, and that gave her some hope. At least no one would be able to do anything to the robot without a fight. While the doctors might have wildly different opinions about a lot of things, they all seemed to agree that the robots and their well-being was just as important as any human’s. A smile tugged at her lips. It was nothing short of admirable how willing these doctors were to help anyone who needed it, no matter who – or what – they were. 

She forced down the rest of her food, while they discussed how to best approach the issue. Seeing as none of them knew much about Rabbit’s character, it was hard to plan how to go about it.

The most difficult issue was how to best distract Jon, without making it seem like they were intentionally pulling him away from his brother. None of them wanted to separate them, seeing as they hadn’t seen each other in a long time. They could ask him straight out, of course, but that might worry the small robot more than necessary. The distraction would need to feel natural, almost casual.

Work would seem the most logical excuse, because Jon was after all sent here for that reason. Having him work in post-op would be pointless, however, seeing as he would easily overhear any conversation that was had in the same tent. If there were wounded, that might do the trick, but would also mean that no doctors would be free to talk to Rabbit.

“Radar!” Hawkeye suddenly exclaimed, and Margaret looked around instinctively, expecting to see the Corporal nearby. “No, I mean, he and Jon got along pretty well. I’m sure he’d show Jon around or find something he could help out with,” Hawkeye explained his sudden outburst.

“That might work,” Margaret nodded. “Who will talk to Rabbit?”

“I’ll do it,” Hawkeye said, before sighing. “Honestly, though, this whole plan kind of relies on the assumption that he’ll be willing to talk to any of us.”

“At least we will have tried,” B.J. said with a shrug. “Best case scenario, we’re worried about nothing and he’ll be fine on his own and back in business in no time.”

Margaret considered his words with a strange sense of melancholy. “Is that really the best case scenario, though,” she murmured. The image of Jon sitting as close to his brother as he could get, holding his hand tightly, came to mind. 

Eventually, inevitably, Rabbit would be sent back or away, and Jon would yet again be alone and vulnerable to the army’s whims. It was a cruel fate, though not one that was exclusive to the robots. War did have a tendency to separate. Perhaps they should just be grateful for the short periods of time in which it united.

No one seemed to have anything to say, though she could tell by their sombre expressions that they knew exactly what she meant and shared her sentiment. They finished their meal in relative silence, before going their separate ways. While Hawkeye and B.J. left to talk to Radar about the plan, Margaret headed back to post-op.

After regretfully exchanging her winter wear with appropriate work attire, she entered. Her gaze automatically went to the bed where Rabbit was resting. She was surprised to find only him there. Searching the tent, she found Jon hard at work redressing the wound of one of the soldiers. She was glad to see him more rested and chatting easily with the patient. A small smile came to her lips. No one could claim that the robot wasn’t a hard-worker.

“Major Houlihan,” she blinked, attention moving to nurse Kellye who was standing by one of the charts. The young nurse had been bedridden for almost two weeks now with a bad case of the flu going around. She looked a little pale and wasn’t quite her chipper self but gave Margaret a smile when she approached her.

“Good to see you back on your feet, nurse,” Margaret greeted her. “I trust you are well enough to do your job, and that you are no longer contagious?” While her tone was formal, she was genuinely pleased to see the nurse in better health, and she let that fact be known with a smile of her own.

“Yes, Major, I’m glad to be back!” And she did look like she meant it, a testament to her passion for her work. Margaret had always liked that about her. 

“Is everything all right here?” She asked.

“Yes, Major. The patients that arrived are doing fine so far. I was a little surprised getting back, though, I mean…” she glanced over towards Jon and lowered her voice, “I heard about the robot, but I didn’t expect him to be so… human.”

“I don’t think any of us expected that,” Margaret answered with a small smile. 

“He’s been great, though. He was asleep when I got here, but from the moment he woke up, he’s been a great help. Told me he’d been a field medic during several wars already.” She looked excited, and Margaret couldn’t blame her. 

As she listened to nurse Kellye update her on the conditions of the patients that had recently arrived, she let her gaze roam attentively around the room. Only then did she realize that Rabbit, who she had assumed to be asleep, was in fact awake. 

“How long has he been awake?” she asked nurse Kellye, who followed her gaze. The nurse blinked, apparently as surprised as Margaret was.

“I don’t know, Major, he was resting the last time I noticed.”

Margaret nodded absently, watching the robot curiously. He didn’t appear to see her looking at him. His eyes were trained on Jon, though he seemed content just watching him work, rather than call out and alert the other.

Walking over, Margaret took a seat in the chair next to the bed. “I see you’re awake,” she said, but kept her voice quiet. Rabbit twitched slightly, turning to look at her like he only now noticed her presence. His eyes were of different colours, she realized, one blue and one green. Just like Jon’s, they held an impossible amount of emotion and nuances, and met her own with an intensity that would have made her nervous if she wasn’t quite used to men staring at her by now.

“Do-don’t t-t-tell him, yet,” Rabbit said, and it wasn’t hard to know who he meant. His voice was just as human as Jon’s, though deeper in pitch and with an accent she couldn’t quite place. The words surprised her somewhat.

“Why not?”

“I d-d-don’t want to d-distract him.”

“Alright,” she nodded, though she assumed it wouldn’t be too long until Jon realized his brother was awake anyway. It wasn’t as though the post-op was big. The only reason he hadn’t noticed already seemed to be that he was entirely focused on the patients and their well-being. 

“The-the guys I was w-w-with,” Rabbit said quietly after a few moments, his head turned to look at the patients in question. One of them were still resting, recovering from the lung injury. The other two seemed to be in the middle of a game of cards. “How-how are t-t-they doin’?” A strange expression touched his face, like he was trying hard to keep his face from showing any expression at all. It was too passive to be natural, and his eyes betrayed him, showcasing the turmoil he tried to hide.

“We have good reason to believe they will recover just fine, as you can see,” Margaret said kindly, nodding her head in the directions of the two playing. “Thanks to you, I’d say.”

“No.” The word was strangely insistent, though quiet. “No, I-I-I… f-f-f-” He cut off, his stutter getting bad enough that it seemed to transfer to the rest of him, for he twitched and trembled for a moment, giving off a series of strange sounds. A series of pops when he moved his head to look away, distant hissing coming from his chest, whirring of gears. 

The sounds seemed to alert Jon, for he looked up, eyes widening when he saw Rabbit awake. Although he didn’t abandon his work, he wasted no time finishing, making sure the patient was comfortable before coming over.

It was remarkable how quickly Rabbit’s twitchy demeanour changed. Like someone had flipped a switch, he suddenly appeared calm and perfectly at ease. Margaret could still see traces of something unspoken in his eyes, but that too was quickly hidden behind an amiable grin when Jon came to stand by the bed.

“Rabbit! I didn’t notice you were awake,” Jon said happily. 

“That w-w-was kinda the point, the Jon. You looked busy.” The stutter, previously agitated by emotion, seemed to have calmed slightly. The obvious answer would be that he felt calmer when his brother was close. Another, more alarming, explanation would be that he was just too good at hiding his emotions from the other.

“I would have come over,” Jon murmured, looking a little put out at Rabbit’s words. 

“I know.”

“If only to give you a hug.”

“Does t-t-that mean it’s no longer an- an option?” Rabbit looked a little amused, and chuckled when Jon responded by promptly reaching over and hugging him as best he could. It was a little awkward, seeing as Rabbit was still lying down, but that didn’t seem to bother the two of them as Rabbit raised an arm and hugged the other back. 

The heart warming display was pulled to an abrupt end by nurse Kellye calling out. “Major! It’s Private Clark…” Jon straightened, partially pushed away by Rabbit who abruptly sat up. 

“Justin?” he whispered, alarmed. Margaret hurried over to the bed in question, vaguely aware of Jon following her. Nurse Kellye looked worried, and it wasn’t hard to see why. Justin Clark, the man with the collapsed lung, was turning blue.

“Jon, find one of the doctors-”

“No need,” she suddenly heard B.J. as he approached with Hawkeye. Their timing was impeccable, and for that she was glad. “What happened?”

“He’s not getting enough oxygen, doctor,” Margaret said, “and his heart rate’s much too fast.”

“Hypoxemia, perhaps. Or there might some damage I didn’t see,” B.J. murmured. He’d been the one to operate on the man the first time around. “give him some more oxygen.”

For a while, they worked to try and get the man’s condition more stable again. Margaret noticed out of the corner of her eye that Rabbit was watching the scene unfold with a pained expression.

“I think something’s wrong,” Jon’s words brought her attention back to him. His eyes were trained on Private Clark’s chest, head tilted like he was listening intently to something the rest of the couldn’t hear. He looked scared. “I think we should get him to pre-op. W-with all due respect, sirs…”

The doctors exchanged a glance, silently communicating for a moment, before B.J. nodded. “I think you’re right, Jon. He should be showing signs of improvement, I want to be sure I didn’t miss anything.”

The atmosphere in post-op was tense as they whisked Private Clark away, along with a few nurses to help with the surgery. Private Hawkins and Private Foster, who’d been in the car with him, both looked pale and worried for their companion’s well-being.

“Is he going to be okay?” Hawkins asked after a few moments of silence. The game was left discarded between them on his bed, which had served as a table due to the fact that he couldn’t very well move with his broken leg. A few cards had fallen to the floor during the commotion, but neither men seemed to notice. 

“I’m afraid I can’t promise anything at this point,” Margaret said honestly. “Though I know the doctors will try their very best.”

“He’s just a kid, you know?” Hawkins looked shaken. “W-what if he…”

Jon took a few steps closer to them, trying for a smile. “They’ll do what they can,” he said softly. “He survived this far, right? I’m sure he’s trying his best to get better.”

“You say that like it’s simple,” Foster muttered. Unlike Hawkins, who responded mainly with shock, Foster’s expression was sullen. Had a bitterness to it that Margaret didn’t quite like. It was far from the first time she’d seen that kind of expression. “It’s not like injuries mean much to you robot folks, is it. You can just patch it up again, I imagine, no pain involved. It’s not like you know what it’s like to be hurt. And if the going gets tough, I guess you’ll just turn off like it’s not any of your business.”

Margaret didn’t miss the angry look tossed at Rabbit. Nor did she miss the hurt in the robot’s expression, however fleeting. Rabbit’s gaze fell to his lap, and he made no attempts at defending himself. 

“That’s enough, Private. If it wasn’t for Rabbit-”

“We’d all be dead, sure,” he cut her off angrily, voice raising as his hands clenched around the playing cards he was still holding. She knew, logically, that anger was just another reaction to fear and pain. That some needed to push blame over on someone, anyone, to cope with their own pain. It didn’t make his words have less of an impact though. “Well, if he’s so great, how come he just stopped working when we needed him the most, huh?” He turned to Rabbit and practically shouted, “Why’d you do that? Huh?! If you hadn’t, we’d have gotten here sooner, and Justin might still be okay!”

“Nick!” Hawkins hissed, as shocked at the outburst as everyone else was. “Jesus Christ, man, give him a break…”

“Why should I? He’s just a robot, Darryl, and a broken one at that! I guess we should have known, the bastard that built him couldn’t even program him to speak properly. Who knows what else is wrong with him.”

Margaret felt a wave of anger wash over her as well, stepping forward, fully intending to give the soldier a piece of her mind. An arm reaching out stopped her abruptly in her tracks, and she looked down to see Jon standing in front of her, blocking her way silently. She couldn’t see his expression, as his head was bowed, hiding it behind his curls.

“He’s angry, ma’am…” His voice was soft, quiet, possibly meant for her ears only. It was also trembling slightly. His arm was too, she noticed. “His friend’s hurt, and he’s scared. It’s okay.”

“No, it isn’t,” she said, voice hard as she looked at Foster and hoped her eyes clearly conveyed what she thought about his behaviour. 

She couldn’t help but wonder why they didn’t speak up. How they could just take the verbal lashing with such calm. Rabbit, like his brother, was looking down, hands curling around the blanket someone had put over him – however unlikely it was that he needed it. His expression was blank. Carefully empty, as if he was trying to blend in with his surroundings by not showing any reaction at all.

Foster said nothing else, just walked back over to his own bed, lying down and turning his back to all of them. Hawkins stared after him for a while, playing cards discarded all around them. After a while, he sighed, turning to Rabbit. “Jeez, I’m sorry, Rabbit. I’m sure he didn’t mean it…”

Rabbit turned slightly, giving him a ghost of a smile before he carefully eased himself down on the bed. On his side, this time, facing away. While the situation was no longer escalating, Margaret knew it wasn’t resolved either. 

In front of her, Jon’s arm fell back to rest at his side. He was still trembling. “Jon?” Margaret inquired gently, apparently startling him, for he raised a hand abruptly, running a sleeve across his face. It came away slightly splotched with something that looked like oil. 

She never got to inquire about why this was. Radar, perhaps due to his uncanny way of knowing when to be where, entered post-op before she had the chance. His smile and the spring to his step halted slightly once he took note of the quiet atmosphere in the tent, and he looked at Margaret, confused. She just gave him a smile and a small nod, knowing the reason why he was there. 

Hawkeye had joined B.J. in surgery, and wouldn’t be able to talk to Rabbit yet, but that might be just as well. Margaret couldn’t help but feel that they wouldn’t get much out of the robot at the moment anyway. Instead, this might be more for Jon’s sake, as going with Radar might get him away from post-op and distract him for a while.

“Hey, uh, Jon?” Radar said, and he seemed to notice that the robot wasn’t as cheerful as he usually was. “I was just wondering if I could show you around. I mean, no one ever got the chance to do that yet, right?”

Jon looked up, blinking. There was no trace of a leak on his face, despite the oil on his sleeve, Margaret noticed. He did look subdued, though. “But… I have to work,” he said, tilting his head in confusion.

Margaret reached out and put a hand on his shoulder. “Why don’t you go with him, Jon. Major Winchester is due in her soon. I’m sure we can manage.”

Nodding silently, Jon made no further protests. As the two of them left, Margaret saw him pause briefly by Rabbit’s bed. Jon apparently decided not to disturb his brother, for it seemed he’d rather be left alone. He did say something before leaving, though, voice soft. If Margaret hadn’t been paying close attention, she might have missed it.

“You’re not broken.”

With that, he disappeared out the doors behind Radar. Margaret decided that if Jon didn’t stay, that meant her presence likely wouldn’t be any more welcome. So she went about her business, and tried to act as normal as she could. No matter how much she wanted to do something to help, she didn’t know what she could possibly do. What she could say that would make things easier.

It wasn’t until she passed his bed that she noticed a trail of oil running silently down his cheek from one of his closed eyes. He discreetly wiped it away with his hand before it could reach and stain the pillow, even as another followed its path. 

Margaret swallowed, as the stains on Jon’s sleeve suddenly made perfect sense. The realization wrenched at her heart. Making her at once angry on their behalf and ashamed of her own ignorance when first meeting these robots. She couldn’t have been more wrong about them. Private Foster couldn’t be more wrong. The army couldn’t be more wrong.

Post-op gradually went back to its usual cacophony of sounds and chatter, patients appearing to forget his presence in the corner bed. Rabbit made no sound to show his distress, or the pain he felt. Didn’t utter a word to defend himself from the harsh words said in a fit of anger. Silently enduring, though unable to hold back the one thing that proved his humanity more than anything;

Tears.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! Your feedback is much appreciated! :) 
> 
> Also, I am not a doctor, in case you're wondering why most medical details are mysteriously non-existent in this story. I'm a preschool teacher, and the most medical aid I usually do is putting band-aids on boo-boos and kissing them better, haha.


	4. No rest

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry, this took longer than expected. Work's been hectic the past few months, but I finally got the time to finish this chapter. Hope it was worth the wait!

“So this is the latrine… Wait, did we already come here?”

Radar was starting to feel like the whole idea of showing Jon around the compound wasn’t going so well. When Hawkeye had asked him to keep him away from post-op for a while, he hadn’t been very specific. He’d said they needed to talk to the other robot while Jon wasn’t around, but he hadn’t even seen any of the doctors there when he arrived.

What he had been met with instead was a very heavy atmosphere and a pretty forlorn-looking Jon. Clearly something had happened. Major Houlihan seemed pleased to see him there, though, so he decided to proceed with his part of the agreement.

That left the two of them wandering around the compound in the guise of a tour, despite the temperature, which was making his nose feel like it could fall off at any moment. Jon seemed confused at first, clearly wondering why Radar was trying to show him around parts of the camp he’d obviously seen before. Then he gradually seemed to retract into himself. Nodding along with Radar’s rambling to be polite, but otherwise distant and sad-looking.

Radar wished he knew what was wrong and how to fix it. He hadn’t had a chance yet to really get to know Jon at all, seeing as they’d both been busy ever since Jon arrived, and hadn’t really come across each other again. As a result, he had no idea what might cheer him up. He had been trusted with that task, though, for whatever reason. If he hadn’t, he still felt he’d want to try, because looking at the robot now was just painful.

A gust of wind snuck down the collar of his coat and he shivered. Pulling his hat further down over his ears, he let his gaze roam in search of somewhere that might at least be somewhat warm. He didn’t want to go back to the office yet. He’d seen far too much of that place lately and it felt nice to get a small break from the monotony. Post-op was clearly out. As was the officer’s club. Jon probably wouldn’t be in the mood for that, and Radar wasn’t really either.

The idea struck him so abruptly that he froze in his tracks. Jon, who had been trudging along behind him, nearly walked straight into him, blinking back to reality. He looked around, confused, confirming Radar’s theory that the robot really hadn’t been paying attention. Just as well, because Radar had somehow forgotten the most important part of the tour, and the place he used to go for comfort.

“I have someone I want you to meet,” he said, smiling brightly. Jon blinked, nodding dazedly, as Radar grabbed his hand and pulled him along.

If there was one place Radar always felt at ease, it was the stable. He’d always loved animals, even had a few of his own that he took care of at some point. Few had been as permanent as Sophie, though, the horse they had saved from being put down. Ever since she had been gifted to Colonel Potter, she had been assured a spot in their family.

Being a Colonel’s horse had certain advantages, in terms of justifying the expenses of having her be comfortable and well fed. She also had a stable of her own, warm and sheltered from the weather. Radar often found himself going there, just sitting in the hay with her. Quietly enjoying her company or chatting, depending on his mood. Sophie was a good listener.

She greeted them curiously when they ducked into the building, and Radar felt Jon’s hand twitch in his own before pulling away. He turned to him in confusion, for a moment worried if he’d made a mistake in bringing him here.

The look on Jon’s face quickly proved that it hadn’t been a mistake at all. Once again, he looked like he’d forgotten Radar was there, but this time Radar wasn’t sure he minded. Slowly, a large smile spread across his face, eyes practically shining with joy.

“Oh, you’re beautiful!” he whispered, taking a tentative step towards Sophie, who seemed almost to recognize the compliment for what it was, giving a small toss of her head and a pleased nicker. 

Radar smiled. “Her name’s Sophie,” he said.

“Hi, Sophie,” Jon murmured, holding out a hand. Sophie wasted no time coming over and sniffing curiously at his hand, as though she expected him to be bringing a treat. Not surprising, perhaps, seeing as both Radar and Colonel Potter tend to spoil her a bit by bringing by treats whenever something suitable was served in the mesh tent.

Fascinated, Radar watched as the robot and the horse met and seemed to regard each other silently for a moment. Then, Jon slowly reached around and gave her a hug. Sophie, despite normally being somewhat hesitant around strangers, accepted the gesture with another soft nicker. Like she was greeting someone familiar. 

Radar thought he might have been a little jealous, if it wasn’t for the way Jon seemed to melt into her, smile slowly replaced by that sorrowful expression from before. Like he had desperately needed the comfort only a warm, soft animal could bring. Sophie seemed to know he needed it, because she stayed perfectly still, even turning her head as if to hug him back.

“You like horses, huh? I figured you might,” Radar smiled, happy that his choice to bring the other here had been the right one.

“I love them,” Jon murmured into Sophie’s fur. “Used to sneak into the stables all the time during our second war. I wasn’t supposed to, but I just… couldn’t help myself.”

“I get it. Think I might have done the same,” Radar said quietly. “I always come here when I feel bad. Sophie’s good at comforting. And uh… well, you kinda looked like you needed some comfort.”

Jon didn’t look at him but nodded slowly. “Thank you, Radar.”

“Don’t worry about it,” Radar smiled, happy that he’d been able to help at least somewhat. Realizing that Jon would probably be here for a while, Radar took a seat in the hay by the wall. While he could feel the wind through the wood behind him, the stable was still pleasantly cosy compared to outside. “Um… Maybe you want to, I don’t know, talk about it? You don’t have to, though, just thought I’d offer.” 

The sentence drifted off somewhat awkwardly, as Radar wondered whether a robot would feel the need to talk about their problems. This almost seemed to be confirmed when Jon looked at him, perplexed. 

“Why?” he asked.

“Well, I think it helps to talk about things that make me feel bad, so I just thought that maybe you were the same, you know?” 

“No, I meant… No human has ever really…” Jon broke off uncertainly. “Well, they don’t seem to think that us robots have problems that can be resolved by talking about them.”

A confused frown crossed Radar’s face. “What about your um… father?” he asked hesitantly. He’d imagined that the man who created them, the one they looked up to as a father figure, would see their troubles and encourage them to talk. 

Jon smiled, somewhat wistfully, but it faded after just a few seconds. “Pappy, he wasn’t a very emotional man. He believed in science and logic. Feelings aren’t logical.”

“He never listened to you?” Radar asked, saddened at this revelation. For some reason he’d pictured a loving man in his head when Jon talked about their creator. But perhaps he was simply biased, having grown up with a family who’d been open and emotional in most ways. Uncle Ed, who’d been more like a dad to him, had never been too busy to listen to his rambling. Always encouraging him to talk about whatever he needed to.

“He did listen,” Jon said. “I just don’t think he knew that listening alone was enough. He’d start talking about solutions and testing to find out if there was something wrong with our wiring or if he’d made a mistake somewhere. I think he wanted to fix us. Make us happy.”

“No one’s happy all the time, though. It’s not human.”

“We’re not human.”

“You are in the ways that matter,” Radar said firmly, turning to look at the other with what he hoped was conviction and not anger at whoever made Jon question this fact. “And I’m sure your father knew that too, and that he wanted to help you.” 

Jon looked down at his shoes with a small smile. “I think what helped the most was that he made more of us,” he said, a little more enthusiasm in his tone. “At least we could talk to each other. Well, The Spine never really talks a lot. But he always listens to the rest of us when we feel like talking about stuff.” 

He chuckled to himself, as if remembering something nice. “He pretends that we’re annoying him. Gets this grumpy expression on his face. But in the end, he never complains, not really. He’s always there. When we have questions about something. When we’ve done something wrong and feel guilty. When we’re scared or just… just lonely…”

Radar watched as the enthusiasm faded, something terribly vulnerable crossing Jon’s face. The reality seemed to wash over him, weighing him down. The realization that Spine wasn’t here. For a moment, Radar worried the robot would burst into tears right there and then.

“I know I’m not him, but uh… I don’t mind listening, if you want to talk,” he said gently. 

For a moment, Jon looked uncertain. Then, with a slight nod, he gave Sophie a few last pats before walking over and sitting down next to Radar in the hay. He sat close enough that Radar could feel the slight warmth he gave off. Close enough that he could hear the distant hum of what must be his inner workings. Kind of like a heartbeat, Radar figured, just a steady sound rather than a beat.

For a while they were quiet, but Radar didn’t think it was a bad quiet. He was happy to wait while Jon gathered his thoughts and tried to figure out where to begin. And when Jon did begin, he sounded endlessly tired. In the way people did when they talked about something they usually tried not to think about, and everything just came crashing over them all at once.

“I don’t like war,” he said. “I know most people don’t like it, so it sounds kinda silly, but I really don’t like war. It’s stupid. And it’s sad. And it never ends. Just… starts another one.”

It sounded surprisingly pessimistic for someone who usually seemed happy-go-lucky. Still, thinking about it, Radar could see how Jon might feel that way. He’d seen several wars, after all. The downside to not aging. Radar shivered at the mere thought of living forever, only to forever be pulled into new wars. 

“My brothers hate wars too, but, I don’t know. They handle them better, I guess. Spine sort of distances himself from it, in a way. Says it’s easier to focus on the people we help, the here and now. Not the big picture.”

“I get that,” Radar nodded. “A lot of us do that here too.”

“I wish I could.”

“You can’t?”

Jon glanced down at his hands, which were twiddling restlessly in his lap. “I try to. But everything’s so noisy.”

“Yeah,” Radar said, “war can be really loud sometimes. Although I guess we’re usually pretty lucky here. At least shelling and stuff isn’t too common.”

The robot, however, shook his head slowly. “Those are noisy too, but that’s not’s what I meant.”

Radar looked at him, a little bewildered. “Oh, what did you mean?”

He watched as Jon’s eyes closed. Slowly, a pained expression touched his face, and his hands lifted to his ears almost subconsciously. “It’s… there’s so much noise. So much fear and anger and pain… If I really stop and listen, it’s too much. So I don’t, usually.”

It was a strange thing to consider. Sounded impossible, in a way. Still, Radar thought he could understand, somewhat. After all, he himself knew what it was like to hear what was coming before it came, earning him his nickname. Usually in the form of choppers or ambulances, but sometimes in the form of thoughts or desires. Who was he to say what was real and what was impossible, when the line between those two was blurred so easily that he didn’t even notice half the time.

So, rather than questioning it further, he nodded. Accepting it as just another oddity about the robot. “You hear them now?” he asked softly. 

“Mhm. It gets harder to ignore it when I’m upset.”

“And you’re upset because your brother here?” Radar asked, though he jumped slightly when Jon suddenly looked at him like he’d been punched.

“No! I mean… kind of, but it’s not…” the hands had fallen from his ears and waved almost frantically in the air. “I’m not upset he’s here, I’m really happy he is!”

“Sorry,” Radar said quickly, “sorry, I didn’t mean to imply that you’re upset with him directly.”

“I’m happy,” Jon said again, and at the same time looked anything but. “I am… I want to be. But he’s not. And that hurts.”

Radar nodded, watching as Jon seemed to almost curl into himself, drawing his knees up to his chest. “Rabbit is… he used to smile all the time. That was his coping mechanism when we went to war. He kept smiling and laughing, making friends wherever he went. He never seemed scared, though I know he must have been. Whatever happened, he laughed it off or acted silly to make other people laugh.”

Radar thought back to the brief glimpse he’d seen of Rabbit in post-op. What Jon was describing sounded like a completely different person. 

“Spine’s good at listening. Rabbit, though… Rabbit was always talking. The worse things got, the more he talked. Spine said maybe he was trying to drown out the noise. Replace it with something good. And it worked. Whenever he was there, the noise wasn’t as noticeable.”

“I guess war changes people,” Radar said, thinking of all the soldiers he’d seen come through. Men who had simply seen too much and finally broke under the pressure. Men who came to Korea cocky and ambitious, only to leave weeping and injured in both body and spirit. 

“It wasn’t war that changed him,” Jon said, however, a distant look in his eyes. “He handled war pretty well. Focused on helping people, like Spine. And he was good at it. Is good at it. He didn’t let war break him down. Not until we were home again. After the first wars, I heard him tell Pappy about what happened. He’d ask him not to send us to any more of ‘em, and Pappy would hug him. He didn’t usually hug us much, but he always did when we came back.”

Radar wondered if Jon noticed the way his arms seemed to subconsciously wrap around himself, eyes distant. Like he was remembering his father’s arms around him and was trying to fill the emptiness in any way he could. He seemed so lost in thought that Radar didn’t expect him to speak again. He did, though it was merely a whisper. “When we came home from the last war, Pappy was gone.”

“Gone?”

Jon nodded slowly. “They said he died in his sleep. Almost three years before we came home.”

Radar sucked in a breath. He felt cold. Like the winds outside had finally managed to seep through the walls and his skin before settling in his stomach like a block of ice. “Why- I mean, nobody told you?”

A small shrug. “We were separated for most of that war, I guess they never really got through to us. Or…” the sentence drifted off, but Radar’s mind cruelly filled in the blanks Jon seemed hesitant to voice. Or, getting the message to them hadn’t been a priority. After all, they were robots. What did it matter to them that their creator was dead. 

“I’m… Gee, I’m so sorry to hear that,” he managed to get out around the lump that seemed to have settled in his throat at the injustice of it all. 

For a moment, there was no answer. The only sounds were Sophie munching on her hay in the background and the faint howl of the winds outside. Radar shifted almost subconsciously closer to the other, eventually ending up shoulder to shoulder with him. That seemed to startle Jon out of his stupor, but he didn’t pull away. His hands fell back to rest in his lap, as he leaned into the touch.

“Rabbit took it the hardest,” he said softly. “He was the first to be built, and the one who was closest to Pappy. He’d always go down to the pond to sit by Pappy’s grave. Even as years and the grief passed, he’d do that regularly.”

“That’s nice." 

“Yeah,” Jon said, but he looked sad.

“Did something happen after that?” Radar asked. He was slowly realizing that while Jon had been talking about whatever changed Rabbit, the death of their creator didn’t seem to be the reason. At least not the only reason. He had, after all, said that the grief eventually passed. So, something must have happened between then and now. 

“He fell asleep,” Jon said quietly. “He fell asleep once when he was visiting Pappy. And when he woke up, he was told that he’d been asleep for a long time. That his power core had been stolen. That, when they tried to retrieve it, two people had died, and several others were injured.”

“W-what?” It was too much to take in all at once, and Radar was unable to do much except stare at Jon. Clearing his throat, he decided to start with the least troubling part of what he’d said. “What do you mean ‘power core’?” 

He thought he’d chosen the safest part of the problem to question, but Jon looked uncertain, as though he realized he’d said something he wasn’t supposed to. Radar wouldn’t pretend to understand how the robots functioned. He was fairly certain a boiler couldn’t be the only thing making the robots work the way they did, though, and that there must be some kind of secret behind it. “That’s uh… is that what makes you, well, you? Like your personality?”

“S-sort of,” Jon said slowly, weighing his words and proving Radar’s suspicion that this wasn’t something widely spoken about. And for good reason, if this power core was important or interesting enough to be worth stealing. 

“We can’t really function without it,” Jon continued, “And it’s um… dangerous, in the wrong hands.”

“Oh,” Radar said quietly. “And you said someone just took it?”

“We weren’t the only ones who knew Rabbit used to visit there alone. And someone took advantage of that. Of him. When We found him, he was just… empty.”

“And, uh,” Radar began, swallowing heavily, “you said someone died?” 

Jon nodded. “Like I said, it’s dangerous. Unpredictable. They managed to get his core back, but-” Jon shook his head, closing his eyes with a pained expression. “When Rabbit woke up and learned what had happened, he blamed himself.”

“What? But it wasn’t his fault!” Radar exclaimed, “I mean, he couldn’t have known someone would do that to him! They shouldn’t have taken his core-thing to begin with!”

“We tried to tell him. Many times. I guess at some point he pretended to accept it. Acted like he was okay. But he wasn’t. Hasn’t been since.”

“That’s awful.”

“Mhm.”

They fell silent, as Radar pondered this revelation. He thought about Hawkeye and how everyone was trying to figure out if Rabbit was hurt worse than he was saying. They probably didn’t even realize that whatever was wrong, it might have started before this war even happened.

“Hawkeye and the others wanted to talk to Rabbit without you there,” he suddenly found himself blurting out. It was supposed to be a secret, he knew, but somehow that didn’t feel right under these circumstances. “They thought maybe he’d be more honest if he didn’t feel like he had to protect you, and-”

“I know.”

“- they were… wait, you know?”

Jon looked at him with a small smile. “People tell me all the time that I’m obvious,” he said, “but you might be even worse than me, Radar. What was the point of showing me the latrine twice?”

Radar felt heat crawl up to touch his ears as he chuckled nervously. “I kinda hoped you didn’t notice,” he admitted. “I’m sorry, they thought it was for the best.”

Jon shook his head. “I don’t mind. Maybe he’ll actually talk to them.”

“You think so?”

“To be honest, no.”

Radar sighed softly. “Yeah… after what you told me, I don’t really think so either.” It wouldn’t be surprising to Radar if Rabbit never wanted to let anyone know how he functioned, let alone try to fix him.

“I miss The Spine…” Jon said, not much more than a whisper. “He’d know what to do.”

Radar nodded silently, wondering where the last brother might be at this moment. If he missed Jon as much as Jon missed him. He couldn’t help but think so, even though he’d never met him. 

 

The two of them spent the next hour or so just talking. The subjects, thankfully, grew lighter as Jon’s mood seemed to ease up a bit. Just like Radar had suspected and hoped, talking did in fact help him. He seemed almost recharged in a sense, his smile more natural and laughter bubbling up from time to time as he spoke about their shenanigans. 

He was also curious about Radar and listened eagerly while Radar talked about his home in Iowa, his mom and Uncle Ed. About Henry Blake and how the Colonel had become almost a father figure to him when he came to Korea. What started as an attempt to cheer Jon up, ended up going both ways, when Jon hugged him in response to hearing about the Colonel’s untimely demise.

Jon liked hugs, Radar realized. Of course, it should have been obvious since it was one of the first things the robot did when they met. Still, it wasn’t something he seemed to do easily. Understandable, really. It wasn’t appropriate to go around hugging people higher in rank, and Jon didn’t have a rank at all. He’d been reduced to equipment. A machine. Most people would never think of hugging a machine.

They didn’t know what they were missing out on, Radar thought to himself. Jon was warm and contrary to what one might think, it didn’t feel that different from hugging a person. He was careful not to hug too tight, and his clothes made it barely noticeable that he was made of metal.

There was of course the added bonus of knowing that Jon wouldn’t judge Radar for being equally fond of hugs, like most of the guys would if they knew. Being one of the guys wasn’t exactly easy. Especially when you were 5’4 with what seemed like a permanent boyish face and voice. 

Radar spent a lot of time trying to seem taller and tougher than he felt. Despite how Hawkeye and the others made sure he knew it wasn’t really needed. With Jon, he didn’t need to pretend. It was nice.

And, like with most nice things, the moment didn’t last. Radar wasn’t sure who heard the choppers first, but both he and Jon were on their feet in a matter of seconds. Sophie snorted at their sudden movements, and Radar sent her a quick apology before heading out, Jon following silently.

“Choppers!” Radar called out to whoever might be listening, as the two of them ran towards the helipad to do what they could.

It didn’t take long before the compound was once again bustling with life. And death. The state of the soldiers coming in was enough to make Radar queasy. Some were red with blood, others blue with hypothermia. One guy was missing a chunk of his chest, just a hole left behind. Radar was almost glad when they covered him up, not because he was happy he was dead, but because he was afraid he’d vomit if he had to look at the gruesome wound.

He wasn’t a doctor. Wasn’t even a nurse. He’d never been trained for this kind of thing, blood made him nauseous and all the hurt made his heart ache. He was just a clerk. A kid. Way out of his depth. But in a crisis, everyone and anyone had to step in.

And this was certainly a crisis. It was a clear sign that they were bad off when he heard Colonel Potter order someone to fetch any nurse able to stand, whether they were still sick or not. They would just have to hope that they weren’t contagious still.

In the midst of it all, Jon scurried about, efficient as always. All vulnerability, all loneliness seemed to be pushed aside as he focused whole-heartedly on saving as many soldiers as he could. Radar thought about what he’d said about the noise, and wondered how it must feel to be surrounded by it. 

It was fascinating to see that the more hectic things got, the more everyone relied on Jon. He seemed to be treated more like a doctor than a nurse or assistant. It was clear his medical knowledge extended to more than following orders, and everyone seemed to have picked up on that. Radar even heard him take charge on multiple occasions, gently but firmly relaying what could almost be orders to nurses, who responded without hesitation.

It seemed that as quickly as the chaos started, just as quickly did the compound grow silent in the aftermath of the initial rush. Patients were rushed in to be prepared for surgery, and Radar was about to head inside when he looked up to see Rabbit, standing by the door to post-op. He jumped slightly, not having expected to see anyone there, as mostly everyone had already disappeared into the tent.

“What are you doing? You should be in bed!” he called out, jogging over. As he got closer he couldn’t help the way his heart sped up. Rabbit, unlike Jon, was tall and somewhat intimidating. He pushed the feeling away, though, reminding himself of what Jon had told him about the other robot. 

A pair of mismatched eyes met his, blinking. His expression was strangely fond, and Radar wondered just how long he’d been standing there. If he’d seen Jon at work. 

“T-they’re gonna need ev-ev-every bed they have,” he said, shrugging.

“You need it too,” Radar protested. “I don’t care if you’re not human, you’re still a patient.”

“I’ll be f-f-fine,” Rabbit said, though he looked a little startled by Radar’s insistence. “It’s not like the doctors can d-d-do much, there’s no po-po-point in me stayin’ there. Just… takin’ up space.”

Radar wanted to disagree, but the bitter reality was hard to deny. They would soon need the space, and the beds. It really didn’t sit well with him to throw the robot out, though. “You’re not just ‘taking up space’, Rabbit,” he insisted. 

Rabbit tilted his head curiously, and Radar suddenly realized just how familiar he was treating someone he hadn’t even talked to before. All he knew was from Jon, Rabbit didn’t even know who he was. He cleared his throat, a flush rising into his cheeks. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to be overly familiar. I’m Radar, the company clerk,” he said, somewhat belatedly.

“I’m Ra-Ra-Rabbit, though you s-seem to know that already.”

“Um, Jon talked about you,” Radar explained. 

“Yeah, I figured as much.” The fond expression was back, with a hint of amusement flickering in his blue and green eyes. “Most humans d-d-don’t call us by our n-n-names until they get used to us. Sometimes, not even then. You s-s-surprised me.”

“Yeah, sorry-”

“No. It-it was a nice surprise.” Rabbit smiled, and it instantly made him much less intimidating. Jon gave a small smile of his own, before remembering the dire situation they were currently in and the fact that his assistance was probably needed elsewhere. 

“Look, I have to go help out, but you can stay in the office if you want. Can you walk?”

Rabbit nodded, and although he looked a little unsteady, occasionally tilting to one side before regaining his balance, he did manage to follow Radar as he led him across the compound towards the office.

Once there, he gestured towards his bed. “Um, feel free to borrow my bed if you want, though it might be a bit small for you now that I think about it.”

“T-thank you. I’ll be f-f-fine,” Rabbit said again. He looked around curiously, before walking over to the bed, stopping uncertainly.

“Really, it’s okay,” Radar insisted, and was glad to see the robot take his word for it. Rabbit lowered himself gingerly down on the bed, sitting rather than laying down. Radar wasn’t sure what the robot weighed, being made of metal, but the bed thankfully seemed to have no trouble holding him. “Okay, well, I have to go.”

Rabbit gave him a nod and another small smile, which Radar returned before running back to the OR. 

Hours later, when he was sent back to make a phone call for more supplies, he found Rabbit laying down on his bed. His legs were curled up somewhat awkwardly to make room for him, and his eyes were closed. In his arms, clutched gingerly against his chest, was Radar’s teddy bear.

While he was usually quite protective of the toy, and didn’t like for people to know about it, he found that he didn’t really mind. The teddy bear didn’t seem to be in any danger, despite the undoubtable strength in those metal arms. 

Besides, Rabbit looked peaceful. And Radar couldn’t help but think that he deserved any comfort he could get after all he’d been through. 

Radar did his job as quietly as he could, relieved when he’d made all the phone calls he could. Leaning back in his chair, he yawned, rubbing his eyes before glancing at the clock. No wonder he was tired, it was almost morning. 

He hadn’t fully appreciated the value of a regular sleep schedule until he came here and found that such a thing was pretty much impossible. 

“I see your bed’s occupied.” 

Radar jumped in surprise, having not noticed Colonel Potter entering. The older man looked even more exhausted than Radar felt. He was suddenly very thankful that he wasn’t a doctor. Or a Colonel in charge of an entire hospital, for that matter.

“He didn’t want to take up space in post-op,” Radar said quietly. He wasn’t entirely sure if a robot would be woken by sound the same way a human was, or if they were only programmed to react to certain things. It didn’t hurt to be on the safe side, though. He really didn’t want to wake him.

“Ah, I was wondering where he’d disappeared off to. Jon didn’t seem worried, though, so I have to admit I forgot,” Colonel Potter murmured. Radar wondered if Jon could tell his brother was okay or knew where he was, somehow. He would probably never fully understand how the robots knew these things. That was okay, though.

“Are the patients okay?” Radar asked. Things had calmed down a bit by the time he left, but he knew that it was still touch-and-go for a lot of them. “Do you need me in post-op?”

Colonel Potter shook his head. “No, what we need is to find you a bed.”

“Oh… are you sure, sir?”

“Radar, no offence, but you look dead on your feet. As do we all, I imagine.” Radar couldn’t exactly object against that statement. 

“I can get an extra bed in here. It’s not a problem.”

“Isn’t it kind of cold in here, though? You could stay in my tent if you want, I don’t mind.”

“Oh no, sir,” Radar said, a little mortified at taking up space in the Colonel’s tent. No matter how much he liked the man and looked up to him, he was still his commanding officer, and Radar knew he valued his private space. “We have some foldable ones in storage, it’s not a problem, honest!”

Colonel Potter looked torn between amusement and bewilderment. In the end, he seemed to decide he was too tired to argue. “Well, if you’re sure. You need help carrying it at least?”

“No, sir, I can manage.”

“I’m sure you can. Well, then. Get some rest, Radar.”

“You too, sir.”

Colonel Potter turned to leave, pausing briefly to glance at the teddy bear stuck in Rabbit’s grip. “Will you be able to sleep without him?” he asked, and while the comment would sound like ridicule from anyone else, there was nothing but kindness in Colonel Potter’s tone. 

Radar shrugged. “Rabbit seems to need him more than me right now,” he said honestly. 

Colonel Potter smiled, bidding him goodnight before leaving the office. Radar yawned, about to leave when a small sound broke the silence. Glancing towards the bed in the corner. Rabbit looked as still as he had before, and he thought maybe he had imagined it. Then, there was a slight shift as the robot seemed to huddle in on himself, a small frown marring his forehead.

He seemed to let out a breath, or a mumble. Sleep talking. Radar stared, astonished that a robot could even do that. Another mumble, and this time he caught the word. Spine. His brother. Was he dreaming about him? Could robots dream? Or was it just Radar’s mind playing tricks on him?

Rabbit shifted again. Pulled the teddy bear closer up below his chin before falling quiet again. Like he hadn’t moved in the first place.

Radar swallowed. Suddenly he didn’t feel tired at all. Instead he was overcome with a desire to do something, something that might help. Biting his lip, his eyes travelled to the phone. He hesitated. An idea was gradually starting to take form, but it felt like a shot in the dark. 

Still, he justified to himself, Rabbit was a patient. And when they had patients who the doctors couldn’t help, they would sometimes call in for specialists. Radar figured that few would be better equipped at helping him than their brother. The only problem was, he could be anywhere in Korea right now. It seemed like an impossible task.

So, Radar figured, he’d better get started. Grabbing the phone he glanced at Rabbit to make sure he was sleeping. Determination filled him as he heard the familiar voice at the other end.

“Sparky? It’s Radar. I need your help. I’m looking for a robot…”

 

When he woke up, it was light out. Momentarily confused and a little panicked, he realized he had no idea when he’d fallen asleep. He never went to bed, that was for sure. And yet, that was exactly where he found himself now, half sitting up in his own bed, blanket draped over him and teddy bear resting beside him.  
Rubbing sleep out of his eyes, he found that his glasses had been folded neatly on the small shelf by the bed. The office looked like it had during the early hours of the morning, while he’d been making phone calls around what seemed like the whole of Korea.

Radar wasn’t entirely sure how long he’d been there, only that he’d reached a dead end and couldn’t do more than wait for someone to get back to him. He’d started scribbling down notes to himself at some point, words that probably meant nothing to anyone else but helped him keep a track of every possible clue he’d been given. 

Putting on his glasses and getting up, he walked over to find the notes exactly where they’d been before. What hadn’t been there before he fell asleep, though, was the plate with breakfast and a note with a decidedly different hand writing from his own. He grabbed it and noted the swirly, neat style of the letters, sometimes a little shaky like the writer’s hand hadn’t been entirely cooperative.

“Thank you, Radar,” he read quietly. “You could have woken me, though! Rabbit.” He couldn’t help the amused snort. Even though it was a written note, with the way the letters were more pronounced and hurried by the end, it felt almost petulant. Or embarrassed, maybe. He shook his head, deciding he was probably putting too much into it. 

He must have been more exhausted than he realized, though. One would think he’d notice if a robot grabbed him – possibly even carried him – while he slept. And yet there was little doubt about who had gotten him into bed. 

While he did feel a little embarrassed, he also felt a wave of gratitude. Rabbit hadn’t needed to do that, even if perhaps he’d felt guilty for taking Radar’s bed. He would have to explain to him once he figured out where he went, that he had been meaning to get another bed. Falling asleep at his desk hadn’t exactly been a planned or necessary decision.

The fact that Rabbit was moving about at all gave him some hope that perhaps he was feeling better. Even though it was a little worrying. What if he broke down again? Or collapsed somewhere without anyone realizing? 

Finishing his food and quickly getting ready for the day, he headed out to search for him. He’d already slept away too much of the morning, and he had plenty to do, but he couldn’t quite relax until he knew that the robot was at least doing okay.

The feeling he got as he met others around the compound was that they fell into two different categories. The first he called zombies. Nurses who were clearly sick, but had still been up working during the night’s surge of patients. Others who had been worked to the bone for the past week while said nurses were bed ridden. People walking around like they were still sleeping, grunting quiet greetings or just huddling into their winter clothes. Like all they wanted was to find out whether or not humans could hibernate.

The second group he was introduced to when he met Hawkeye, B.J. and Major Houlihan. They were giggling, lost in some joke only they seemed to understand. Moving around like their blood was bubbling with jittery energy. A combination of lack of sleep, adrenaline and caffeine most likely.

Radar avoided them. He tended to do that when their mood got like that. Not that he blamed them, they were over worked. They all were, really. Over worked and cold and miserable. Radar wanted spring to come soon. Or at least a little break from the monotonous cold that had plagued them for weeks. 

He searched most of the compound. The swamp. The officer’s club. Even the mess tent, thinking that he might find the robot there, even though he didn’t technically need to eat. There was no sight of him, though. Not of Jon either, though the efficient robot was probably busy helping out in post-op.

Perhaps Rabbit had gone back there as well? Radar had just left the mess tent and started to head in that direction when he heard someone call his name. Turning, he saw Klinger standing by his tent, waving at him. Well, it was really the barber tent, but Klinger had made that his own over the past few years.  


It had happened gradually, as he’d moved his collection in there piece by piece, somewhat sneakily. Before anyone really realized it, he’d put in a bed. From what Radar gathered, none of the other guys complained about him having his own space because it meant he would no longer be crowding their space with dresses, stockings and whatnot.

No one had actually complained about Klinger, though that was the response he’d heard Colonel Potter give to some general passing through, wondering why a corporal had his own tent. While Klinger would loudly proclaim he was crazy, and back up the words with his actions, he was also ridiculously charming and hard to dislike. Perhaps that was just as big a reason why no one really cared too much about his living accommodations. 

Radar wondered briefly, as he walked over to the barber tent, which rarely functioned as a barber tent, what outsiders thought when they met Klinger. To him, seeing Klinger in a skirt and sweater hardly even registered as strange. Instead he would briefly look at it, sometimes think ‘oh, that’s a nice outfit’, but apart from that think nothing of it.

What he hadn’t expected, once he reached the doorway, was to see Rabbit inside the tent, seated in a chair wearing a black and red dress and a long, dark wig. He wasn’t even aware that Klinger owned wigs, as that wasn’t usually part of his attires.

“Looking for him?” Klinger grinned.

“Klinger, what- just ‘cause you wear dresses doesn’t mean you can make others do it!” Radar spluttered, trying to keep quiet. Rabbit was awake, but didn’t seem to notice them. He was looking through one of Klinger’s fashion magazines, Radar noticed, eyes focused on the pictures and a small smile on his lips.

Klinger looked affronted. “You really think I could make a metal robot, 6 foot something, do anything he didn’t want to?”

Radar had to admit that Rabbit looked nothing short of content where he sat. It was strange how the long hair seemed to suit him. The dress looked a little small, though, unsurprisingly.

“I noticed you were wandering around, thought maybe you were looking for him,” Klinger said. “He said something about stealing your bed last night. Looked so lost I invited him to stay here.”

“Thanks, Klinger.”

“Don’t mention it. I wasn’t aware you’ve adopted these robots, but you kinda looked like an overprotective mother hen looking for him.”

“I did not,” Radar protested, a bit too loudly. Rabbit blinked and looked up, seeming to notice him. For a moment he just stared at Radar, then suddenly got up from the chair he sat in, ripping the wig of his head and almost hiding it behind his back. Radar blinked, surprised by the sudden motions and guilty look on the robot’s face. Like a kid caught with their hand in a cookie jar. Just more fragile, somehow.

Klinger seemed stunned too, but also strangely understanding. “Hey now, it’s okay. Radar doesn’t care what anyone wears, I swear.”

“Y-yeah,” Radar chimed in, “I mean I was surprised. The only guy around here I’ve seen willingly wear Klinger’s clothes is Klinger himself. But I don’t mind.” 

“I d-d-don’t- I was just c-curious. I, I…”

“Really, Rabbit, it’s okay,” Radar tried a smile, relieved when it felt genuine despite his confusion about the whole situation. He had no idea what motivation Rabbit might have to let Klinger dress him up but had assumed it was all in good fun. He really hadn’t expected Rabbit to care about what he wore or how others perceived him. From Jon’s stories, he’d sounded like the kind of person who would eagerly try new and ridiculous things just for the heck of it.

Rabbit opened his mouth to say something, but instead blinked, swaying slightly where he stood. Klinger and Radar both rushed forward to steady him, guiding him back into the chair with some difficulty before he fell forward. Radar doubted even the two of them would be able to do much to stop his momentum if he did.

“Whoa, you okay?” Radar kept a hand on his shoulder, noticing the way it trembled under his touch. Rabbit’s face was a little confused, like he’d blacked out for a moment. Maybe he had. Blinking slowly, he finally looked up at Radar and nodded.

“F-f-f-” his head twitched and there was a popping sound before he was able to finish the word, “f-fine.” He didn’t sound fine. He didn’t look fine. 

“You sure? Should I get Jon, maybe he could help?”

“No!” That word at least had no stutter. It sounded a mix between fearful and stubborn. 

“Doesn’t seem to me like you’re fine,” Klinger said. “Are you sure you weren’t hurt in that mine blast?”

“I, I ju-just need… rest…”

Radar frowned, biting his lip uncertainly. “Well, you’ve rested a lot since you got here, but you don’t seem to be getting better.” He thought back to how Rabbit had spent most of his time in bed since he arrived here, sleeping.

Or, Radar realized with a pang of dread, pretending to sleep. He recalled something Jon had said when he first arrived. That he had to shut down every now and then to keep his system functioning properly. Rabbit had slept, or shut down, and woken to find that a disaster had happened without his knowing. He’d been taken advantage of in an environment where he felt safe.

Would he really be able to willingly sleep in an environment where he didn’t? Had he even been able to sleep properly at all while he was in Korea?

“Radar?” Klinger was looking at him strangely, and Radar wondered if his sudden realization had shown on his face. It was just a theory, and he didn’t know Rabbit well enough to ask. Jon had spoken about it, but that did not mean Rabbit was comfortable with doing the same. 

Rabbit, on his side, didn’t seem to have noticed anything strange about him. In fact he looked more distant than before, eyes far away. Radar wondered if he was wrong, if the robot had been sleeping after all. Though, perhaps it was just his body forcefully shutting down at random because he refused to let it rest properly.

Maybe that was what happened after the mine blast, when he’d suddenly collapsed. If so, something needed to be done.

“It’s okay, Rabbit. You can rest here,” Radar murmured, noticing how the robot seemed to attempt to stay awake. Klinger said nothing, still looking at Radar curiously. Finally, Rabbit’s eyes slipped shut entirely, and the shiver seemed to calm down slightly under Radar’s hand.

Once he was certain the robot was no longer awake or at the very least alert, he met Klinger’s eyes. “Sorry, I hope you don’t mind him staying here,” he murmured.

Klinger snorted. “Not like there was much choice,” he said, “we can’t exactly move him like this.” His expression softened, though, as he looked at the robot. “I don’t mind, though. I was going to offer, anyway, seeing as he didn’t want to take up space in post-op and couldn’t very well sleep in your bed all the time.”

Klinger walked over and picked up the wig from the floor, putting it away and fetching a blanket to put over the sleeping robot. “You know, I’ve been met with a lot of reactions for dressing the way I do. Even if I do it for the very sane reason of pretending to be insane – don’t tell anyone I said that.” His expression was thoughtful. “Rabbit, though… For a moment, I could have sworn he looked envious. When I asked him if he wanted to try something on, just for fun, he said it wouldn’t be proper. I told him no one cares about proper here anyway.”

“He looked happy,” Radar murmured.

Klinger nodded. “Yeah. Don’t uh… don’t tell anyone, though. I kinda assured him no one had to know about it. Guess I broke that trust a bit when I called you over. I didn’t think.”

“Of course I won’t,” Radar said. “I don’t care what he wears. At this point, I’d just like to see him happy, I think. And Jon too.”

“Like I said,” Klinger grinned, “mother hen.”

Radar let out a sigh, but realized that at this point he might not even have a right to complain. He wasn’t sure why he felt this way. All he knew was that these robots deserved better than the way they had been treated. “Yeah, yeah,” he muttered. “Like you’re any better.”

“I’m not,” Klinger admitted, still smiling. “I get what you mean. I want to see them happy too.”

Finding that there wasn’t much more to say, Radar excused himself from the tent. Rabbit would be fine for now, he knew. There wasn’t much he could do standing around here, and work was still waiting for him.

Trying to focus on the tasks at hand, he slowly managed to push the issue about the robots to the back of his mind.

So much so that when the phone rang later that afternoon, he responded without much thought for who was calling. He nearly dropped the phone all together when he heard Sparky on the other end, giving the answer he’d barely even dared hope for;

“Radar? I think I found him.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! I still love writing this, and have every intention of finishing it! :)


	5. Tension

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My goodness, I'm so sorry for the delay! This chapter did not want to be written, apparently. At all. I do hope you'll enjoy it, and that it's not too disappointing.

There were times when being the commanding officer of the 4077th was a delight. It had been a long time since Sherman had found himself acquainted with such a diverse and interesting group of people. He’d come here, fully expecting to be ostracised, being their commanding officer, and the ‘new guy’. Surprisingly, it didn’t take long for them to warm up to him, and they did so with all their heart.

Usually they would fill the dreary loneliness of war with shenanigans and hijinks. At times pretending they were more fine than they probably were. At times embracing it and helping each other through the harsh realities they faced, with a sense of comradery that reminded Sherman more of a family. 

Then, there were times like this. Where everyone was run ragged, morale was low and people just kept dying. Out of the soldiers that had come in during the night, they’d already lost two more to the hypothermia that just wouldn’t let go its grasp on them. It wasn’t doing a whole lot to lift the spirits of those still alive, that was for sure.

It was early afternoon before it seemed things had calmed down a bit, and they had remained calm while hours drifted by almost unnoticeably. Those who were still alive stood a fair chance of remaining that way. 

In fact, the one who was the worst off was that young man that had come in during Winchester and Jon’s rescue operation, Justin Clark. His lungs apparently hadn’t decided yet whether they wanted to get better or not. Margaret was seated at his side, eyes thoughtful as she checked on his condition. 

“Everything all right, Major?” Sherman asked gently. She jumped slightly at being addressed, but nodded, standing. 

“Yes, he seems to be doing all right,” she murmured. “Well, as all right as he can be, all things considered.”

“Still touch and go, huh?” He had been stable for the past few hours, but Margaret, like the rest of them, knew that could change in a heartbeat. It had done so a few times already. A sigh was all the answer he got, but it was answer enough. “What about you? How are you holding up?”

“Oh, I’m fine,” she said with a shrug. It was too nonchalant to be true. A deflection if he ever saw one. She seemed to notice his sceptical expression, because she smiled weakly. “As all right as I can be, all things considered,” she echoed her previous words.

Sherman nodded, understanding the sentiment. While they were doctors and used to injuries and death, they were not immune to the gloom that followed. The atmosphere in post-op was heavy and too quiet. Both the doctors and patients alike seemed lost in their own bubbles of thought, seemingly functioning on auto-pilot.

“I suppose that’s all any of us can hope for,” he murmured, receiving another soft smile before Margaret returned to her bubble and moved on to the next patient.

He felt like he should know how to make things better. He was, after all, the commanding officer. Perhaps they should organize a party, once things calmed down enough. A chance to wind down after weeks of too much work. What he’d truly love for, was to give every single person there a long weekend in Seoul or Tokyo. Goodness knows they’d deserved it. 

Of course, that would be impossible. The best he could hope to give them at this point was a good night’s sleep, and even that seemed like too much to hope for.

He hardly noticed the time pass as he moved from patient to patient. Checking charts and stats. Briefly discussing treatments with the other doctors and the nurses and exchanging words with the patients, but otherwise keeping silent.

He was thankful, then, for Jon, who tried his best to lighten the atmosphere with generous smiles. Where everyone seemed to float around in their own bubble, Jon would offer his comfort and assistance to anyone who needed it, patient, nurse or doctor alike. 

The only person he seemed to avoid was Private Foster. Then again, it wasn’t hard to see why, for the man seemed bitter and angry most of the time, glaring at Jon as though he’d done him personal harm.

The robot seemed to have it handled, though, not showing signs of being too bothered by it. And so, reluctantly, Sherman decided it probably wasn’t any of his business. There was only so much he could muster up the energy to deal with. No point digging into sores that might be better left alone. 

Sherman ran a hand across his hair, attempting to smooth it down somewhat. Too much time under the surgical cap had made it stick out, as though trying to escape his head all together. Finding the attempt all but impossible, he heaved a sigh. 

How he longed to take Sophie out for a ride. To have some time to just relax, maybe a warm spring wind urging them forward. Instead he was stuck inside with a nose that very much did not agree with the cold weather and joints that ached. Getting older was no joke.

“Sir…?” He glanced up to see Jon standing timidly by the foot of the bed he was currently seated at. He realized he’d zoned out, looking at the chart he was holding without actually seeing it. The patient he was seated by slept peacefully, although he could have sworn the man was just awake. 

“Yes, Jon?” he questioned, trying to put some energy into his words and failing spectacularly. He could tell the other was a little hesitant still. Could almost see the gears turning inside that head, wondering if it was all right for him to talk to the Colonel without invitation. It was a pleasant surprise when Jon tried to straighten a bit and put on an expression that was a little braver.

“Dinner time is almost over, sir.”

Sherman tossed a disbelieving glance at the clock, finding that Jon was right. Usually his stomach would acknowledge this fact, pulling him towards the mess tent. Now, he just felt empty. It wasn’t the kind of emptiness that a meal could fix, and his stomach seemed to have realized as much. That might be why he hadn’t realized how late it was. 

The others seemed to have eaten already and come back, as he had vaguely noticed they’d taken turns disappearing once things seemed peaceful. Not that their mood seemed much improved by the meal.

“Oh,” he mumbled to himself, “so it is.”

“You should…” Jon cut off, biting back the words and gaze falling to the ground. Sherman waited a moment for the continuation before realizing that it would never come. Jon was simply too polite and cautious to say what he’d meant to. Not that Sherman didn’t understand. He’d seen the gentle concern in that expression before it hid behind golden curls.

“I should probably get something to eat,” he acknowledged, standing from the chair he’d been seated on and stretching. Something popped satisfyingly in his back. “And you should join me,” he then decided.

Jon looked startled. “Oh, but, I don’t eat, sir.”

“You’ve been working non-stop since these men came in last night, Jon. You deserve a break as much as the rest of us.”

“But I can still-”

“You can be quite stubborn, huh? But I think you’ll find, so can I. You are taking a break.”

Jon blinked, and Sherman wondered if his mock-stern tone had been too much. The robot didn’t shy away, though he was staring at him as though attempting to figure him out. “Is… Is that an order, sir?” he asked after a moment, tilting his head ever so slightly.

“If that’s what it takes to get you to join me so I won’t have to eat alone, sure.”

The robot nodded slowly, realization setting in. “Oh. Okay.”

Finishing what they were doing, the two of them met up again outside. Sherman pulled his coat tightly around him as they headed across the compound, by now expecting the icy air they’d been plagued with lately. 

It took him a moment to realize that he wasn’t as cold as he should have been. At first he thought it was getting warmer outside. Then he realized that the moment Jon lagged a little more behind him, it got colder again. He stopped, Jon halting confusedly beside him. 

“Sir?”

“Jon, how long has it been since you had some water?” he asked, stepping a little closer to the other and thus confirming his suspicion that Jon was certainly giving off more heat than before. It felt like standing next to a small bonfire, the air around Jon decidedly more pleasant than the rest of it. It would be quite comfortable if it wasn’t also worrisome. “You said you needed water, right?”

“I… did,” Jon mumbled, and looked away. Like he’d been caught doing something he shouldn’t. “But I’m fine still.”

“Horse hockey,” Sherman exclaimed, though he softened his tone when he noticed Jon twitch slightly, “Look, I might not be a mechanic, but I’ve seen machines overheat before. That’s not something I want to happen to you. Did you forget?” he asked, watching Jon closely as the robot shuffled uneasily where he stood.

Jon shook his head. “They uh… The patients find the warmth comforting. I thought it might help.” It was spoken so quietly that Sherman almost couldn’t hear him. Like he was unused to explaining himself this way. It was entirely possible that no one had bothered to take notice of this before, because he looked at the same time guilty and befuddled at Sherman’s reaction.

Sherman wondered if this was simply a lack of self-preservation or a learned response to leaders who expected too much. Looking at the bashful expression on Jon’s face, however, he was faced with a third possibility. The possibility that he simply cared that much, and would extend his help and abilities as far as they went without hesitation.

“You’re a good kid, Jon,” he said softly. He wasn’t oblivious to the fact that Jon was quite old, and certainly not a kid by any definition of the word. Still, from what Sherman could tell, he was young at heart, and much like a child in some ways. Although they would be fools to think he wasn’t just as reliable and experienced as any war-hardened adult. 

“But,” he continued, stressing this part with kind firmness, “your well-being is no less important than that of the patients.”

Jon said nothing to that, and Sherman could tell that the robot didn’t quite believe him. It was disheartening, but not surprising. He could easily imagine the robot being told over and over that humans were better. More important. It also wasn’t hard to imagine the lasting damage that might leave on someone’s feeling of self-worth. 

Sighing softly, he kept walking, Jon following a few steps behind. Reaching the mess tent, he was relieved to see that there was still some food left, as unappetizing as it might look. He was even more relieved to hear Jon ask for a glass of water.

They weren’t the only ones there. The few still occupying the tables were either finishing their meals or looked like they were just trying to stay warm. Sherman was a little surprised to see Father Mulcahy there still. The young priest was usually on time for anything, even meals.

His food was untouched, Sherman noticed as he approached. And he looked like he had no intentions of touching it, instead slouching slightly, gaze fixed on the table in front of him. He looked pale, though it was hard to tell if it was due to the cold, stress, or something else entirely.

“Good evening, Father,” he greeted, sitting down opposite him.

Father Mulcahy seemed to blink out of whatever stupor he’d fallen into, straightening from his slouch to look at him. “Oh, Colonel. Good evening. And to you too, Jon,” he turned, sending a small smile to Jon who approached them, gingerly sitting down beside Sherman.

“Hello, Father,” Jon smiled shyly. He set his glass of water on the table, fingers wrapping around it like he found some comfort in the coolness of the glass. Sherman wondered how it might feel to him. If he could feel sensation such as temperature. If he was able to judge a soft surface from a hard. A solid material from one that was fragile. It seemed likely. If not, how could he have such precise control over every single movement those metal fingers made.

Jon had apparently noticed how his eyes had lingered for a little too long, for the robot tilted his head slightly, looking a mixture of curious and nervous. Clearing his throat, Sherman turned his attention instead to the priest, a little worried to find that he was already slouching again, stirring in his food with disinterest.

“Not much of an appetite, Father?” he asked.

“Hm?” Father Mulcahy glanced at him and then back to the fork in his hand, putting it down on the plate. “No, I suppose not.”

“Everything all right?”

“Oh, I’m sure it’s just the weather getting to me.” The smile the young chaplain was giving him was sincere enough but lacking the radiance it usually held. 

“I see,” Sherman nodded, deciding not to push the matter for now. Instead, he started eating. From the corner of his eye, he saw Jon sip quietly at his water, just like any human would. When he glanced his way, however, he stopped, lowering the glass self-consciously and giving him a bewildered look. 

“I half expected you to have a hatch you’d need to poor it down,” Sherman explained, somewhat embarrassed at his own curiosity. 

A strange look crossed Jon’s face, but he smiled. A wistful sort of smile. “No hatch,” he said. He looked down at the glass in his hands, twirling it ever so slightly. “Pappy thought it might make us more… relatable, I guess. To do things like you do.”

“Ah,” Sherman nodded. “Seems to me that he did a fine job with that. You seem to get along with most here without problems.”

“I like people,” Jon said simply, giving a small shrug. Like it was the most logical thing in the world. And perhaps, to him, it was. Sherman wished he could have that mentality. That innocent eagerness to see the best in everyone.

He thought of the ugly looks Private Foster had been giving the robot in post-op. Thought of the degrading wording of the papers he’d brought with him. And he couldn’t help but wonder how the robot was still able to say that with such conviction. 

“Well, you’re quite likeable yourself,” Father Mulcahy joined in quietly. “I’ve heard you talk with the patients. I dare say you’d be a rival for my job.”

Jon’s eyes widened, hands flailing for a moment. “Oh, no, sir! I don’t know a thing about religion!”

Father Mulcahy shook his head. “It’s not always about religion, you see. It’s about making people feel heard. Understood. ‘Love thy neighbour’. Seems to me you have plenty of love to share, and I think others can feel that.”

Sherman nodded in agreement, yet again reminded that the 4077th was very lucky to have a chaplain like him. Through the years he’d had both the fortune and misfortune of meeting various priests and religious figures. Some were marvellous; kind and merciful. Others, not so much. Sadly, the ‘love’ part didn’t always seem entirely unconditional. He could imagine quite vividly several of these men reacting to Jon and his like with anything but love.

“I…” Jon seemed at a loss for words, and Sherman was certain that if robots could blush, he would be doing just that. Instead, the robot gave a small, bashful smile. “I don’t know much, but… I like psalms,” he said after a moment, glancing down as though afraid he was speaking out of turn. “I used to sing them sometimes during the last wars. Some people found it comforting.”

“Really?” Father Mulcahy seemed to almost perk up at that, clearly not expecting it.

Jon nodded. “I only know the ones I picked up from others over the years, though. Pappy didn’t… he had no interest in religion.”

“Do you have any you know particularly well? I fear my repertoire for my sermons get a bit repetitive at times. I wouldn’t mind some input.”

For a moment, Jon’s expression was strangely distant, as if he was searching his memory. Possibly quite literarily in his case. Then his eyes drifted shut, and Sherman met Father Mulcahy’s gaze across the table, silently sharing a befuddled look. He saw the priest open his mouth to retract the question, fearing he’d upset the robot somehow.

Before he had the chance, Jon drew in a slow breath. And, to their astonishment, he began to sing.

“Here I raise my Ebenezer; hither by Thy help I’ve come. And I hope, by Thy good pleasure, safely to arrive at home…” 

Sherman had heard mentioned in passing from those who’d spoken with Jon more than him, that the robot apparently used to sing with his brothers, performing as a band. He’d heard it. And he realized he hadn’t truly believed it, not until now. 

It was hard to imagine a robot being able to sing with feeling, with conviction. Jon sang with more feeling than many humans he’d heard, voice soft and sweet as the familiar melody filled the air around them. Despite being quiet, it effectively silenced the chatter from the few still occupying the mess tent.

Father Mulcahy’s eyes seemed on the brink of watering as he watched the robot, hands trembling where they rested, folded, on the table. By the time the verse was ending, he was mouthing along with the words, obviously familiar to him.

It came to an end much too soon, almost as abruptly as it begun, leaving utter silence in its place. Jon’s eyes opened, though they were distant and bright with emotion. He blinked and seemed to need a moment to return from whatever memory had overtaken him. Once he did, he looked uncertainly at them both.

“I’m sorry, I… I didn’t know what it’s called,” he explained softly, “That’s the only verse I know.”

Father Mulcahy swallowed heavily. “Come Thou Fount of every blessing,” he murmured. “Thank you, Jon, that was lovely.”

Jon looked at the priest and his eyes widened with empathy. “Oh no, I made you sad!” he whispered. “I’m sorry, Father!”

Father Mulcahy shook his head, lifting his glasses to run a hand briefly across his eyes, “No, no, I’m quite alright,” he said with a watery chuckle, “I just hadn’t heard that song in a long while, and certainly not sung with such heart.”

Sherman could relate to Father Mulcahy’s emotional response, throat tight. Most who knew him, knew that despite his bravado and authority, he was a sentimental man. He hadn’t expected to be affected so thoroughly by a song, however. Particularly a hymn he could only vaguely recall hearing before, during some sermon or another.

Clearing his throat, he hoped the emotion wasn’t too visible in his expression. “Where did you learn it?” he asked, taking pity on Father Mulcahy who looked uncomfortable under the scrutiny of the robot’s concern. As he’d hoped, Jon’s attention turned to him instead.

“A man I met during the first world war used to sing it. Only that verse, though,” Jon looked wistful. “He said it helped him fall asleep. I sang it to him when he was shot. He fell asleep in my arms, and never woke up.”

Sherman sighed, allowing himself a moment of sadness at this revelation. Then, after sending a silent prayer for the poor soldier, he firmly pushed it out of his mind. If he was to dwell on the injustice of every fallen soldier, he wouldn’t be able to stand under the weight of it all. He would always do his best to honour the memories, but that wasn’t quite the same as letting them drag him down. 

“I’m sure he died at peace,” he said, thinking that he himself wouldn’t mind being sung to sleep a final time by the robot in front of him. Father Mulcahy nodded in agreement.

“You have a wonderful singing voice, Jon,” he said. “I wonder if you’d mind joining us in the sermon on Sunday? I’m sure an extra voice would be appreciated.”

Jon looked surprised. “But, I don’t… I mean, would it really be alright? I’m not human.”

“Of course,” Father Mulcahy said. “The more, the merrier, as they say.”

Jon looked at him, eyes searching. Then, slowly, he nodded. “I’d like that. Thank you.”

Father Mulcahy nodded, smiling as he stood and grabbed his tray. “It seems appetite simply won’t come today. I think I’ll head back to my tent to lie down for a while.” He looked uncertain, “unless you need me in post-op, of course?”

“No, you go get some rest, Father,” Sherman shook his head. “You look a little peaky.”

“I’m sure I’ll be alright.”

Sherman could only nod, hoping he was being sincere. While the priest was normally an honest person, kind to a fault, he was also notoriously unkind to himself. And as stubborn as a mule when he felt the situation called for it. Even as his commanding officer, there was only so much Sherman could do.

“I can walk you to your tent,” Jon suddenly piped up, but Father Mulcahy shook his head. 

“I appreciate the offer, but I can manage just fine. You deserve a break, Jon.”

The robot looked ready to protest, but another smile from the chaplain seemed to reassure him and he nodded. As Father Mulcahy left, however, Sherman noticed Jon follow him with his eyes.

“Everything all right, Jon?” he asked quietly, having learnt by now that the robot seemed to have a sixth sense that could rival Radar’s.  
“Hm?” Jon turned to him, a little unfocused before suddenly his gaze cleared again. “Yes, I think so.”

Sherman studied him for a moment, but while the robot’s words weren’t entirely comforting, he seemed to relax and go back to his drink. Sherman nodded to himself, turning to his own food.

The silence that accompanied them as he ate was strangely comfortable. Jon seemed at ease despite being left alone with him, which was great progress from when he first came here. He watched as the robot leaned one elbow on the table to rest his head on his hand and was struck again by how remarkably human he seemed at times. A soft smile made his golden face seem almost impossibly soft. Sherman suddenly wished he had a canvas and some paint.

In trying to save the image to his mind for later reference, he inadvertently attracted the robot’s attention. Blue eyes turned to regard him curiously as Jon straightened from his relaxed position. Perhaps just as well. Sherman thought to himself that he might not be able to capture the unique nature of the robot in a painting anyway.

“I think I would have liked to meet your creator,” he said. “I wonder if he knew what marvellous people he made.”

Jon seemed surprised at that. “I… I couldn’t tell,” he admitted. “I’m not sure he knew quite what to do with us when his purpose for making us no longer existed.”

“Is he still alive?”

“No, sir. He died during the last war.”

Sherman thought about what kind of man he might have been, to even think to create life the way he had. He wondered what he’d felt about them. If he’d seen their kindness and compassion for the marvel it truly was. If he’d seen them as his children or just machines, which happened to be more life-like than anyone could have imagined.

As he watched Jon tilt his head curiously, he could imagine exactly how the man must have felt looking at his creations. “Well, I’m no genius inventor, and can only speak as a father myself,” he began softly, “but if I were him, I’d be damn proud of you boys.”

Jon was silent, staring at him for a moment before looking away, curls hiding his expression. “You really think so, sir?” he asked quietly. 

Sherman frowned. It hadn’t been his intention to upset him, but that seemed to be what he’d done. “I do,” he confirmed. “Why, you don’t think he would be?”

“I’m not sure,” Jon said, voice wobbling ever so slightly.

“Jon, you’ve been nothing but kind and helpful since you came here.”

“Not to Rabbit. I haven’t been able to help him at all,” Jon admitted, almost shrinking in on himself and looking even smaller than he was. “I haven’t even t-tried. I just don’t know how to…” he cut off, shaking his head. 

As he trembled, the water remaining in his glass sloshed back and forth. Sherman gently grabbed it out of his grip and set it down on the table. Not really afraid it would break, but afraid that if it did break, so would Jon’s already shaky composure. He remained a hold on one of Jon’s hands, marvelling at the smooth and warm metal between his own cold fingers.

“Why don’t you tell me what’s got you so worked up, son,” he said gently, slowly realizing that his words might have set off a reaction to something that had troubled the robot for quite some time. “It seems I’ve neglected your well-being in this situation, just as I now realize I’ve neglected your brother.” 

He thought back to the time since Rabbit arrived and how little he’d seen of him. He suddenly realized he had no idea where Rabbit had gone after leaving Radar’s tent that morning. Reassured by Jon’s apparent calm, he hadn’t even made any attempts at relocating the other robot since then. 

As much as he had wanted to believe that he treated the robots the same as everyone else, it was an undeniable fact that he’d prioritized the human patients over his one non-human one. As had they all. They had simply been too busy to realize the fact. Just as they had been too busy to realize what Jon, while he too worked diligently on the human patients, might think or feel.

Sherman was sharply reminded of Rabbit lying in Radar’s bed, clutching a teddy bear to his chest. That might be the only time he’d truly paid attention to him at all. 

He’d even known that there might be something wrong. He’d heard the other doctors discussing it every now and then. Apparently, they had planned to talk to Rabbit but had been interrupted before they had the chance. In the heat of things, Rabbit had left quietly to avoid being in the way, and no one had yet had the chance or the thought to follow up on it.

He hadn’t paid enough attention to Rabbit. And, Sherman realized, he hadn’t paid enough attention to Jon either. Rabbit was his brother. Jon should have longed to spend every free moment with him. And yet, he was here, accompanying Sherman for a glass of water he could strictly have had anywhere else. That should have been a warning flag that something might be amiss. A warning flag he had missed entirely, leaving Jon to deal with it alone, until it now bubbled up to the surface. 

“I’m a bad brother. I… I don’t even know how to talk to him anymore,” Jon said. “He shuts me out. Has been for a long time. I used to hear him all the time, b-but now I can’t hear him at all. It’s like he’s not even here.”

Sherman nodded, kept his grip on Jon’s hand firm, offering his silent support and encouraging the other to let it out. While it seemed Jon was still trying to maintain some composure, Sherman was glad he felt comfortable enough to share what was on his mind.

“I’m scared, sir. I think maybe the reason why he shuts me out is that he doesn’t want me to know how much he’s hurtin’. I think he’s hurtin’ a lot.” He looked up then, meeting Sherman’s eyes with an expression so genuinely distressed that it made Sherman hold his hand even tighter. 

A soft smile touched his lips as he looked Jon in the eye, hoping to convey the conviction he felt. “You’re not a bad brother, Jon,” he said. Jon sniffled, looking like he didn’t quite believe him, but calming enough to listen.

Sherman contemplated for a moment how to phrase it so it would get through to him. Clearly this was an idea the robot had been struggling with for a while. “Listen, if Rabbit was scared, what would you do?” he asked finally, hoping simple logic could explain it best.

“I’d… hug him,” Jon said, confused by the sudden topic change, “Or chase away whatever scared him, if I could.”

“What if he’d fallen over?”

“I’d help him up?”

“And if he was crying?”

Jon blinked. “I… I think I’d be crying too, sir,” he said, and looked upset at the very idea.

Sherman nodded. “And now, when you think he’s hurting, you’re hurting too,” he said gently. “See, all those sound like things only a good brother would do,” he said. “And Rabbit knows that, I’m sure. Maybe he just doesn’t realize yet that he doesn’t have to brave this on his own. Growing up can be hard like that.”

“But we’re robots, we don’t grow.”

“Of course you grow up,” Sherman shrugged. “Growing up doesn’t just mean growing bigger physically. It means gradually changing as you learn more about the world around you, and about yourself. I’ve seen many loved ones grow older and changing. Sometimes growing apart. But you know what, Jon?”

“What?”

“I’ve also seen just as many loved ones getting to know each other again and growing closer than ever.”

Jon’s eyes were wide, no longer as agitated as he’d been. He seemed to mull over these words, expression serious but also somewhat hopeful. “Really?” he whispered. “You think we can too?”

“I do,” Sherman nodded, and felt absolutely certain of this fact. While Jon hadn’t been with them for very long, he’d yet to see the robot give up easily. He might be uncertain sometimes, as would anyone. There was a newfound determination shimmering in his gaze, though, giving just a little more life to his smile.

“Thank you, sir.”

“Oh I’m sure I didn’t say anything you wouldn’t have figured out on your own,” Sherman smiled, and before Jon could protest to this, he grabbed his tray and stood. “Now, what do you say we get back to work? For your part, that would include going to see your brother.”

Jon blinked, also standing. “But what about the patients?”

“You forget, Jon, Rabbit is also a patient here. And I think he’s well overdue a visit from a qualified medic.”

Jon stared at him for a moment, confused. Then, all of a sudden, the words seemed to sink in and he looked flustered, waving his hands. “I- I’m not, um… I mean, t-thank you?”

Sherman couldn’t help but laugh. “Just calling it as I see it, Jon,” he said. Carrying the tray over to Private Straminsky, by now the only one left in the mess tent besides them, he couldn’t help but notice the spring to Jon’s step as he followed with his own glass. It was a reminder to compliment him more often. Heaven knows he deserved some good words to bring his spirit and his confidence up.

They headed out together, and he was almost relieved to find that the air was yet again colder, meaning the water did Jon some good. “Do you happen to know where your brother is?” he asked, and Jon nodded.

“He sent me a message to let me know,” he said.

“Well, that’s handy,” Sherman hummed, wondering if they were equipped with some kind of communication device. He also wondered if that was what Jon had meant when he said that he used to hear his brother all the time. 

As they moved to part ways, Jon suddenly stopped, turning instead to look towards the edge of the compound. Sherman followed his gaze, hearing the faint rumble of a car before he saw it roll into compound. 

Tension grabbed hold of him as he watched the vehicle approach in the dim light. Relief washed some of the tension back out of him when he realized it wasn’t an ambulance. They had little to no room or energy for more patients for a while. As the vehicle came to a halt next to him, however, he realized that this might not be much better. 

There were only two people in the car, but it was the Colonel in the passenger seat that got Sherman’s attention. Tall and gaunt, he radiated authority. The severity in his expression made it clear that this was a man on a mission, and not a pleasant one.

It did happen sometimes that other colonels visited the hospital, but those visits often complicated things even more. And right now, Sherman wasn’t sure he wanted to deal with more complications. Jon seemed to share his sentiment, because he shuffled to almost hide behind him, glancing hastily away.

“I’m looking for the commanding officer,” the Colonel said, without greeting. His voice was quiet but not kind. 

Sherman realized he looked severely underdressed in his doctor attire and winter coat, so not being acknowledged as a Colonel wasn’t really that surprising. He did not appreciate the disinterested way the man regarded him, however. Like he was old and unimportant. 

He straightened to his full height, though he made sure to keep his own tone pleasant. “That’d be yours truly,” he said. Giving a man the benefit of the doubt was only the right thing to do, after all. First impressions could be deceiving, and he would not steep down to the level of disrespect he was given.

“Oh… Right.” While Sherman thought he might get an apology of some sort, he wasn’t entirely surprised when none was offered. He did, finally, get an introduction at least. “I’m Colonel Perry.”

“Sherman Potter.” He felt no more inclined to offer pleasantries than this man apparently did. In fact, he rather wished they had taken a wrong turn somewhere and would leave as soon as the misunderstanding was cleared. 

“I understand you have some of my men here.”

No such luck. Sherman fought the urge to sigh. “We have a lot of men here at the moment, Colonel. I’m going to need you to be a little more specific.”

Colonel Perry’s brows furrowed impatiently, clearly having expected an immediate answer to what he deemed a perfectly reasonable question. “Privates Clark, Hawkins, Foster and Phillips,” he said. “They were reportedly brought here after an accident?”

Jon twitched minutely behind him. “Right,” Sherman nodded, inwardly feeling a growing trepidation. That would be Rabbit’s group. The lack of mention of the robot did not go unnoticed. “They hit a mine. I’m afraid Private Phillips died in the blast. We have the other four in our care.” Part of him didn’t want to bring this man’s attention to Rabbit if he could help it. But to say that they only had three didn’t feel right, either, seeing as he considered the robot every bit as important as the other three.

At first, Colonel Perry looked confused. Then, his expression darkened. “Right,” he said, and though he made no further comment on the matter, Sherman knew he hadn’t heard the last of it. “I’d like to see them.”

“Only two of them are awake, I’m afraid. Private Clark’s condition is still serious.”

“How serious?”

“Well, he’s got a punctured lung that just doesn’t seem to want to heal. Private Hawkins has been treated for a badly broken leg, while Private Foster is recovering from mild hypothermia.” 

As he spoke, he had the distinct impression that the words entered one ear and flew out the other almost as quickly. Colonel Perry’s expression flickered around the camp, gaze as cold as the air around them. It stopped and lingered on Jon for a moment, despite his best efforts to disappear behind Sherman.   
“I’m sorry, should we really be discussing patients’ matters this openly,” he asked, almost cutting Sherman off. “Corporal, do you not have somewhere else to be?”

Sherman forced down the anger at the blatant disregard of Jon’s competence. At the same time, he was secretly glad that Colonel Perry somehow hadn’t noticed that he wasn’t a human corporal at all. Perhaps due to the dimming evening light. He considered standing up for Jon as the medic he was and stating firmly what he thought of Colonel Perry’s attitude. 

Instead he turned – making sure his back was hiding him further from Colonel Perry’s view. “Why don’t you head over to see your brother, Jon,” he said quietly, giving him a brief smile. Jon said nothing, head bowed, so as to hide his expression – or, Sherman realized, his slightly glowing eyes – from the other Colonel’s view. Nodding, he turned and swiftly headed over towards the barber’s tent. Well, that would explain why he hadn’t seen Klinger for a while now at least.

“Where was I?” Sherman turned back to Colonel Perry, the smile feeling noticeably stiffer on his face as he directed it at the other man. Thankfully, Colonel Perry seemed disinterested in Jon now that he was no longer standing around, turning his sharp eyes back to Sherman.

“How soon can they get back?” he asked, effectively ignoring what Sherman had previously tried to explain.

Regarding the man with poorly veiled frustration, Sherman attempted to keep his tone level. “I’m not sure you understand the severity of the situation, Colonel. Your boys are badly injured. Private Foster will be able to return, but the other two is likely facing a ticket home.”

“Surely that’s an exaggeration?”

“Not at all. We’re a mobile hospital, not a rehabilitation clinic. Hawkins is probably looking at weeks, if not months, of physical therapy. He’s lucky he didn’t lose his leg. And Clark… Well, to be frank with you, he’ll be lucky enough if he survives.”

It didn’t appear that Colonel Perry held too much affection for his men. He did, however, look a little stunned at these news. “That’s… unfortunate.”

Sherman wanted to say that for the men in question, it wasn’t unfortunate at all. They would get to go home. Well, in Clark’s case, if he lived long enough to see that happen. Foster, on the other hand, would be sent back. Perhaps a crueller fate, to go back without his friends. “Foster is still recovering. I reckon he’ll be able to go back in a few days.” He admitted begrudgingly.

“Good,” Colonel Perry said, before stepping out of the vehicle. He towered over Sherman in height but looked wiry enough to be blown over by a gust of wind, despite the heavy winter coat he wore. “Like I said, I’d like to see them.”

Sherman wanted to object. Wanted to say that post-op was busy enough without any visitors disturbing their work. Judging by the look on the man’s face, it would fall on deaf ears. This time he couldn’t quite resist the sigh, though he hid it behind a cough. “Right this way, Colonel.”

He motioned towards post-op, and Colonel wasted no time marching towards it. Sherman glanced back at the driver, who sat huddled into his coat with a resigned expression. “The mess tent should still be open,” he said. “Why don’t you go get yourself a cup of coffee, son.”

The man lit up, clearly not expecting the hospitality. “Thank you, sir!” He parked the car a bit further out of the way, before hurrying over there. Sherman turned back to find that Colonel Perry had already disappeared into the tent. 

“Please, feel right at home,” he muttered to himself before following suit.

It seemed that the new Colonel’s presence wasn’t entirely welcome, the doctors and nurses tossed uneasy glances in Sherman’s direction when he entered, though they said nothing. After all, Colonel Perry had yet to disturb significantly. Rather, he’d stopped by Hawkins’ bedside. Foster sat in a chair next to his bed, but stood when he noticed his superior officer.

“Sir!” he exclaimed, surprised at the sudden appearance. Hawkins attempted to straighten as much as he could. He looked somewhat stunned, but still greeted the Colonel politely.

“Boys,” Colonel Perry nodded curtly. He too looked somewhat uncomfortable now, like he hadn’t entirely planned on what to do or say once he got this far. “Sit down, Foster.” The young man did so, eyes never leaving the Colonel.

“I… Sorry, sir! We were on our way back, but our car hit a mine,” he started, somehow making it sound like that was their fault. “Sam- Phillips, he didn’t make it.”

“Yes, so I heard,” Colonel Perry said. This time he had the decency to look at least somewhat regretful. “Most unfortunate.”

The three men fell into quiet conversation, and Sherman politely attempted to tune them out. Thankfully the atmosphere didn’t seem as tense as he’d imagined when first meeting the man. It would be a far stretch to call the man caring, but he did at least show more interest in listening to his men than anyone else here.

Hawkeye was watching the scene with a carefully neutral expression. “Is he here for Rabbit?” he asked quietly, making sure his voice didn’t carry further than to Sherman.

“Hasn’t mentioned him yet, but I wouldn’t be surprised,” he responded.

Hawkeye looked at him sharply. “You know where he is?”

“I wouldn’t if I didn’t just see Jon head over to the Barber’s tent. I’m just the superior officer, I don’t know everything that goes on here,” Sherman shrugged, with a pointed glance at the doctor. “I thought you were going to talk to him?”

“I’ve been busy doctoring,” Hawkeye said, “it’s kind of my job.”

Sherman nodded, shoulders slumping. “I fear that’s what we’ve all been thinking. Jon seemed to be the only one who knew exactly where to find him.”

“Well, if he’s with Klinger, he’s probably alright,” Hawkeye said. Despite the seemingly carefree words, Sherman could tell by his expression that he felt as guilty about neglecting the robot as he himself did. “Unless he’s just using him as a walking mannequin for one of his dresses.”

Wouldn’t that be a sight to behold, Sherman thought with a brief chuckle. The chuckle died in his throat when the door to post-op slammed open, letting in a gust of cold air. He opened his mouth to shout at whoever had entered to shut the door before they let all the heat out. He never got the chance, too stunned to speak. 

Ever since Rabbit had arrived, Sherman had yet to see him awake. Somehow, he hadn’t quite expected him to be this tall. Towering in the doorway, eyes wide and alight and his headband whipping around his head in the wind, he was a sight to behold. His sudden presence in the doorway had the entire tent transfixed. Not because he was wearing a dress atop his uniform – and wasn’t that an ironic coincidence. Not even because he was a robot, because most had gotten somewhat used to the robots’ presence there.

It was the severe expression on his face that had them all frozen, and Sherman swore he felt his heart skip a beat when the robot spoke, no ounce of a stutter to be heard. “Brace yourselves, we’re being shelled!”

For a moment everything was silent, no one quite believing the words to be true. Sherman noticed out of the corner of his eye Hawkeye open his mouth to make some quip or another. He even had the split second to see Margaret move towards Private Clark, covering him like she somehow knew what would happen.

Then, the distant whistle, followed by thundering noise and a rush of air as the world was torn to pieces around them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I apologize for ending the chapter there. This story is turning out to be a lot more lengthy than I initially planned, but we'll see where it takes us, won't we? I'm sure that sounds very reassuring, coming from the author...
> 
> Thank you all for your support, and your patience! It means a lot!


	6. Protector

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the wait! The past few months have been hectic, because I've been moving and started at a new job, so my focus hasn't really been on this story. Hope the chapter hasn't suffered for it!

Max usually felt rather confident in his actions, going at most things with the attitude that things would work out somehow. It didn’t matter what people might say or think. Some friendly charm and sharp wit, and most situations would turn out alright. There was a reason he could walk around in dresses and high heels amongst hardened army guys – and get away with it.

It was when one started thinking too much that everything got complicated. He’d done his share of thinking, but too much of it and he would start to feel like he was drowning. It had a way of pulling him down, and he had always much preferred to surf on the waves, so to speak. Bad decisions were often made because one got so stuck in their own mind that bad ideas suddenly seemed great.

The situation he found himself at the present might have been due to a bad decision, but at least it hadn’t been the result of thinking too much. He hadn’t really given it a second thought even, when he decided to try to help the sick robot that had been wandering around. It had simply felt like the right thing to do.

As the day progressed, though, he was starting to wonder if it truly had been the right thing. He wasn’t a mechanic, and he wasn’t a doctor. Rabbit seemed to need either one or both of those things.

Ever since Radar had left again that morning, Rabbit had mostly been asleep. Or switched off, whatever the proper terminology for it might be. It was a little unnerving at first, having a tall, gangly metal creation sitting in the middle of his tent. Unmoving. If it wasn’t for the slight hum he gave of, he could have been dead for all Max knew.

Occasionally, he’d wake up, blink those mismatched eyes of his and look momentarily confused. A little scared, even. Max spent most of the day in his tent for this exact reason. He was sure he could have been useful in post-op. Things were hectic and the others were probably busy at work. Still, seeing Rabbit struggling to get up, with some stuttered apology about taking up space, Max swore to himself he would be there to talk him out of it. Heaven knows where he might trudge off to next, and Max did not want him roaming around thinking he was some kind of burden.

Throughout the day he only left briefly to use the bathroom and get something to eat. Some of his time was spent dozing – he had been up most of the night helping with the new patients after all. He always made sure to do so once Rabbit conked out again because he usually seemed to be out for a while after he did that. War had made him a light sleeper, though, and Rabbit made enough noise when he was awake that Max wasn’t too worried about sleeping through it.

The rest of his time was spent sewing, turning his focus to the new materials he asked Major Houlihan to get last time she was in Tokyo. It was funny, really, how this had become his go-to pastime activity lately.

It started as a scheme to get out of the army, and actually wearing female clothing would never be any more than that. The creative aspect of it, though, that he found he didn’t mind. It was calming, giving him something to focus on. And he was good at it. That was enough of a reason to shrug off flippant comments from guys too insecure about their own masculinity.

At first it had distracted him from thinking. Distracted him from the concern that kept bubbling up ever time Rabbit shut down mid-sentence or sat there staring into nothing. Like he wasn’t there at all but somewhere else. But as hours passed, the issue at hand got hard to ignore. He knew Radar had been on to something. Rabbit did not seem to get better. He was getting worse.

When he first got there, he had stayed awake most of the morning, chatting and even trying on the dress – an interesting surprise, really. He’d turned out to be rather nice company. Curious and with a sense of humour that came naturally once he relaxed. His stutter made it hard for him to talk too much, but he tried, and Max had enjoyed their conversations quite a bit.

He was still wearing the dress but that was mainly because he had yet to stay awake long enough or be aware enough to remove it. Max had tried to take it off. Thankfully it sat on top of the uniform, so it wouldn’t feel like too much of an assault, but the skirt was firmly trapped beneath the seated robot. To get it off, he would have to cut it, and he did not want that. It was a nice dress. Besides, Rabbit only said he didn’t want anyone to see – and who would see him in here?

In fact, no one seemed to know he was here at all. Apart from Radar, and probably Jon, though the other robot hadn’t been in to see him. He might be busy, but Max had a feeling there was more to it. After all, Rabbit hadn’t asked about Jon either. Though perhaps that was simply because he hadn’t been aware enough to do so.

“Ouch,” he grumbled as the needle bit into his thumb. Heaving a sigh, he put the fabric and needle to the side. He was getting too antsy to give it enough focus. Lifting his thumb to inspect the damage he was relieved to find only an angry red mark, no blood. Then again, his fingers were probably so cold by now that no blood would come out even if the needle did pierce the skin. He supposed he had underestimated the temperature inside the tent when he sacrificed his gloves for having something to do other than worry.

He pulled on his gloves and huddled further into his scarf and coat. For a moment he just sat there, staring at the robot. The more he stared the more he started wondering if he wasn’t cold too. He might not feel the cold the same way humans did, but surely it couldn’t be beneficial either for rusty mechanics to get too cold. It wasn’t unheard of for machinery to freeze, after all. And Rabbit didn’t exactly look like he’d been well-maintained in the past few years.

Standing, he stretched until his back gave a satisfying pop, before grabbing a spare blanket. It wasn’t too thick but could perhaps provide some warmth at least. There was a small heater in there, but he was reluctant to use too much fuel to heat up the tent. The patients in post-op needed the warmth much more than he did.

He spread the blanket out and wrapped it gently across Rabbit’s lap. Then hesitated before lifting it up to cover his shoulders as well. As he did so, his hand brushed against Rabbit’s chest. He barely had time to notice the faint thrum against the back of his hand, before his wrist was suddenly grabbed.

He gasped, startled by the sudden movement and losing his balance. When Rabbit pulled the wrist away from his own body, Max was helpless to stop it and the rest of him was pulled after and he ended up lying across Rabbit’s lap.

“Oof!” His other arm had gotten tangled in the blanket and his own coat and he struggled to get it out if only to help get himself out of the awkward position. The wrist in Rabbit’s grip was starting to hurt and as he had no limbs to help he was reduced to wiggling. “Ow ow – Rabbit, come on, let go, will you? I wanted to give you a blanket, that doesn’t mean – ugh – that I wanted to function as one!”

He was surprised that the attempt at humour sounded somewhat effortless. After all, it was mainly an attempt to distract himself from the slight panic he was starting to feel, being unable to move much, and unable to see Rabbit’s expression. It struck him that perhaps he’d activated some kind of self-defence mechanism in the robot, and while he couldn’t say he’d ever been afraid of the robots, he suddenly felt very aware of the strength in those metal limbs.

Then, just as suddenly as Rabbit had grabbed him, he let go. There was a series of pops and whirs before he was able to speak. “M-Max?” he sounded confused and just a little panicked himself. “S-s-sorry! Oh no – did I-I hurt you?”

Now able to use at least one arm, Max swiftly removed himself from the robot’s lap. Rabbit had his own arms raised, as if wanting to help him but not daring to touch him again. Max pushed the sleeve of his coat up to get a look at the wrist. While the skin was red and might bruise a little from the rough handling, it didn’t hurt as much as he thought it would. He flashed a smile, glad to find that it felt sincere.

“Nah, I’m good,” he said honestly. Now that he was able to move freely again the adrenaline quickly gave way to relief and slight guilt for thinking the robot might have hurt him. Rabbit’s expression was crestfallen, eyes glued to the redness of his wrist. Max twisted it around for a bit, wriggling his fingers. “It’s fine, Rabbit, really. You didn’t actually grab me that hard.” Which was true. Max imagined that if the robot had actually meant to cause harm, there wouldn’t be much more left of his wrist than mangled bones.

“I… I’m s-s-sorry!”

“It’s okay. What happened, though? Did I scare you?” It was obvious that Rabbit had been acting instinctively. Something Max did startled him so much that he moved before realizing what he was doing. To remove a threat, not by hurting but with just enough force to keep him at a distance. It was a good thing his creator aimed for precision and restraint when programming his movements.

“I… I…” One of Rabbit’s hands moved to hover above his chest, and his gaze fell away. His lips moved silently for a moment before shutting firmly. Clearly it was a sensitive subject, and Max had learned that Rabbit seemed to have a few of those.

“Actually, don’t worry about it,” he said kindly, “you don’t have to tell me. I’m sorry for startling you.”

Rabbit looked up again, studying him for a moment before relaxing. “W-what were you d-doing?” he asked curiously.

Max grinned, bending down to pick up the blanket that had fallen to the floor in the commotion. “Figured you might be cold,” he explained, draping the fabric across Rabbit’s lap. He was careful not to move too quickly or touch the robot’s chest again.

Rabbit tilted his head to the side, touching the blanket, as if feeling its texture. “Th-thank you,” he murmured, ever so softly. “Bu-but you should b-be using this yourse-self.”

Max shook his head, walking over to sit back down. “I’ve got another blanket in case I get cold. Besides, this coat’s pretty warm.” He grinned, huddling further into the trusty fur coat he’d put on. Really the only parts of him that were cold were his fingers and his legs. Wearing a skirt probably hadn’t been the best idea under the circumstances but wearing pants would be the sane thing to do. He did have a reputation to maintain, after all. He had chosen to wear warm stockings and his army boots, though, as he wasn’t too eager to get a frostbite on his toes. If anyone asked, he could just call it part of the outfit.

Rabbit said nothing for a while, but he pulled the blanket further up around himself. After a while, he got that expression again, one that seemed to touch his face any time he let down his guard and forgot he wasn’t alone. A little sad. A little scared. But mostly just utterly lost and confused.

“You okay?” Max asked quietly once the silence started feeling almost oppressive. The robot blinked, looking up at him. Max expected him to grin, like he was prone to do, or make some flippant remark. To his surprise, the expression lingered.

“I don’t know,” he admitted. “I… I don’t know.”

Max nodded. “That’s okay, though,” he said, trying to sound optimistic, “it just means you might need some help, and we have a lot of people here who’d love to help.”

“I’ve no-noticed,” Rabbit said, and he sounded more baffled than anything. Like the idea of someone wanting to help was entirely foreign to him. After a beat, he managed a flicker of a smile. “I’m glad Jon was se-sent here,” he said softly. “It seems like a g-g-good place to b-be, all thi-things considered.”

“It isn’t so bad,” Max admitted. “I mean, it’s still part of the war, don’t get me wrong. But the people here make all the difference. I still want out, but I guess there are worse places to spend the war.”

“Mm,” Rabbit nodded his agreement. “I know I have-have to go b-back to the front, but… I wish Jon c-could stay here. At least… for a while. Then maybe I di-didn’t have-have to worry so much.”

Max felt a wave of sympathy for the robots and their situation. Being sent off to different locations, not even allowed to stay much in contact with each other. “You guys care a lot about each other, huh?” It wasn’t so much a question as it was a statement.

“We’ve b-been around for a long time,” Rabbit said softly, “long- long enough to s-see people come and g-g-go. But we’ve al-always had each other. I don’t… I don’t know w-what I’d do if-if I lost them.”

“Yeah, I get that,” Max nodded. “I’m sure your brothers feel the same way.”

Rabbit shrugged half-heartedly but said nothing to that. Max couldn’t help but wonder if the robot even believed his words but wasn’t sure what he could say to change his mind. It wasn’t like he knew either of the robots very well. Who was he to presume what their relationship was like? After a while, though, the robot attempted a small smile. “It’s g-getting late,” he said. “Shouldn’t you be get-getting d-d-dinner?”

“Nah, I ate not too long ago,” Max said with a shrug. Besides, a glance at the clock told him dinner would be over by now anyway. He had some snacks from home for later if he got hungry. It would have to do.

“I’m sorry. You’ve b-b-been stayin’ here all day, for m-m-me. You do-don’t have to.”

“I know,” Max said, “but I don’t mind.”

Rabbit studied him silently, like he wanted to say something else. Before he could, the sound of a car somewhere outside distracted them both. Max was halfway on his feet, thinking it was an ambulance, but didn’t hear a call about more patients. He could hear muffled talking, but not the words.

Rabbit, however, had gone absolutely still, eyes fixed on the door and hands clutching the blanket tightly. Max couldn’t help but wonder if the robot heard more than he could about whatever interaction was going on outside. If he hadn’t been watching Rabbit closely, he likely would have missed the moment alarm changed to relief. Moments later there was a timid knock at the doorframe.

Max opened the door, putting himself between the visitor and Rabbit until he realized it was just Jon. Suddenly Rabbit’s lack of negative reaction to the knock made sense, and Max relaxed. “Hey, Jon,” he smiled, opening the door fully to allow the other entrance.

“Hello,” Jon nodded shyly. “May I come in?”

“Of course, make yourself at home,” Max said, motioning vaguely around the tent. Jon entered quickly, with a grateful nod. It looked almost like he was escaping something, expression surprisingly sombre. Rabbit looked kind of the same, Max realized, glancing between the two robots curiously.

“W-was that Colonel P-P-Perry?” Rabbit asked quietly, and he still looked like half his attention was on the outside. The car motor had stopped running by now, so whoever it was clearly wasn’t in a hurry to leave.

“Who?” Max asked.

“My uh… b-boss at the-the mo-moment.”

Max’ eyes widened. “Oh,” he said, “is he… I mean, why’s he here?”

Jon glanced at him and gave a small shrug. “He said he wanted to see his men,” he said, before turning back to Rabbit. “He didn’t mention you, though.”

Rabbit nodded, as if that made sense. “Why would he,” he said, “as far-far as he’s concerned, I-I’m not one of his m-m-men.”

“Really?” Max asked, frowning. “But you’re a part of his unit, though, right?”

Rabbit shook his head. “As a weapon, s-sure,” he said. “Not as-as a soldier.”

Jon looked uncomfortable, shuffling from one leg to the other. “Will he… will he take you with him again?”

For the first time since the car arrived, Rabbit’s attention seemed to shift entirely back to his brother, and his shoulders slumped. “I have to g-go back eventually, J-Jon.”

“But you’re not-” the smaller robot began almost frantically, but Rabbit shook his head.

“D-doesn’t matter,” he cut him off, expression grave. “It’s n-not my de-decision. You know t-that.”

Max straightened. “Well, he’s not taking you back without a fight,” he said firmly. “You’re a patient here, the doctors aren’t going to just let anyone take you back before you’re ready.” They were big words and he knew that in the face of a Colonel, they might not have much choice. But at least he knew everyone here would try to fight it for as long as possible. If nothing else, then to hold his departure off until he was better.

Rabbit scoffed quietly. “I d-doubt Colonel Perry w-will ta-take no for an answer,” he murmured. “I’m s-sure I’ll be… fine.”

Jon’s gaze was fixed on his brother, eyes shining. He looked spooked, and Max wondered just what impression this Colonel could have made for him to react this way. “Why don’t you sit down, Jon?” he suggested kindly, motioning to his chair.

Jon didn’t sit, however. He barely even acknowledged that Max had spoken, too distracted by whatever was troubling him. His hands curled into determined fists at his side. “Rabbit, I… Didn’t just come here to let you know he’s here,” he said, “I came to say sorry!”

Rabbit blinked, slowly looking up at his brother with confusion. “W-what are you sorry fo-for?”

“I’m sorry for not visiting you sooner. For not doing more to help you.”

“What?” Rabbit shook his head, “you’ve been b-busy, and besides, I’m f-f-f-”

“Stop,” Jon cut him off, surprisingly serious. “You’re not fine. We both know that, so please. Don’t lie.”

“I’m not-”

“I said stop.” Jon’s voice was quiet, but effectively cut Rabbit off. “I know you think you need to protect me. I know I’m not as reliable as The Spine, or as good at fixing stuff as Pappy was. I’m the youngest. The smallest.”

Jon paused briefly, as if mustering up determination, but Rabbit surprisingly didn’t try to cut in or protest again, though he looked like he wanted to. After a few moments Jon’s jaw set in a determined expression. “But, Rabbit, I’m your brother,” he said firmly, “and I’ve been avoiding you, because I thought that was best, and I’m sorry. I’m not going to let you pretend everything’s fine anymore, because it’s not.”

Max had seen Jon determined before, had seen the mode he seemed to switch on whenever his help was needed. This, however, this straight-backed, strong-willed stubbornness was new. He bore the expression of someone willing to fight, and it was strange to see that kind of expression directed at his brother.

Perhaps Rabbit was just as surprised by this, because he remained silent as he stared at Jon. Clearly unsure of what to say, his lips opened and closed silently a few times. Then, as if something in him gave up, the tension seeped out of him, like the air out of a deflated balloon. Breaking the stare, he seemed almost to shrink into himself.

“I… I don’t kn-know how-how to… let you help,” he admitted finally, voice quiet and broken.

“I do,” Jon said shakily. “You’ve been blocking me out most of the time since you got here. Don’t… don’t do that. Please. Let me hear you.”

Rabbit looked unsure. Then, after a few moments, he nodded.

Max, uncertain what the robots meant, waited without daring to break the silence. He couldn’t hear what was going on, but something was happening because Jon started trembling ever so slightly, eyes widening. It seemed something was being exchanged, though at a frequency Max couldn’t hear. Words, thoughts, perhaps even feelings.

Whatever Rabbit was communicating, whatever Jon heard, it must have been painful, because finally his composure broke and he surged forward to embrace his brother tightly. A choked whimper forced itself up from his throat as Rabbit hugged him back just as tightly.

“There you are,” Jon’s words were muffled as he buried his face in Rabbit’s shoulder, “I... I missed you, Rabbit. So much! Please don’t shut me out again.”

“I’ll try not to,” Rabbit murmured back, voice impossibly gentle. Max couldn’t see Jon’s expression, but he could see Rabbit’s. If someone had told him, before meeting the two of them, that so much raw emotion could be portrayed by a machine, he would have laughed out loud. And yet, there was no denying the pain lingering in the tightness of Rabbit’s lips, or the love shining in his mismatched eyes. Max looked away, aware that he was probably intruding on something very personal.

He busied himself with clearing away the sewing equipment, while letting the two robots have their moment. They didn’t speak, at least that Max could hear, but he made sure to be quiet as he moved about, so he wouldn’t disturb them. It was obvious that this moment was something they both needed.

Suddenly, the moment was broken as Jon flinched and leapt to his feet with wide eyes. The sudden movement made Max jump and he dropped the sewing thread he was putting away. By the time the spool hit the floor and started rolling under the bed, Jon had rushed to the door and opened it.

Max would have thought something had happened between him and Rabbit, if the older robot hadn’t also gotten to his feet with an equally alert expression. The blanket fell, forgotten, to the floor by his feet.

“What’s going-” Max began, but immediately stopped as Jon quite literally shushed him. He was tense, staring out into the darkness, as if listening to something. Max wasn’t sure the sudden cold he felt had anything to do with the wind rushing in through the open door. Last time he’d seen the robot like this was when he and Major Winchester had rushed off to get Rabbit and his fellow soldiers.

For a few, tense seconds, everything was silent apart from the howling of the wind. Then Jon turned to them, eyes wide. “Shell fire,” he whispered. “It’s coming closer.”

The two robots ran out the door, and Max cursed under his breath, hurrying to follow. Although he couldn’t hear a thing yet, he had no doubt that it was coming. What he could possibly hope to achieve by following them out into the open was beyond him, but he couldn’t very well let them run off alone either.

The evening seemed almost too peaceful. Max barely had time to take a breath of icy air, before Jon suddenly grabbed him by the hand and took off running towards post-op, nearly making him trip before finding his footing. Rabbit, despite being practically bed-ridden since he got here, surprisingly overtook them and was nearing the medical building when Jon paused uncertainly, pulling Max to a halt.

“What’s wrong?” he asked, but the robot shook his head, blinking dazedly.

“Go, help the patients,” he said, before letting go of Max’s hand and rushing off in another direction entirely.

“What- where are you going?” Max started to move after him but got only a few steps before the explosion hit. With a shout, he fell to the ground out of pure instinct and covered his head. He could feel the air rushing against him, but thankfully no pain that signalled he’d been too close to it. Once it seemed safe, he straightened again, drawing in a sharp breath.

A large chunk of the medical building seemed to be missing, having caved in or obliterated in the blast. While it looked like it had mainly hit the OR, it was hard to tell in the darkness and Max felt a shiver at the thought of how post-op might have been affected. He glanced around for Jon without seeing him and took a few steps in the direction the robot had suddenly left before stopping.

“Help the patients,” he repeated to himself, shakily, “right.” Turning, he ran instead towards post-op in the hopes that there were still patients alive to help. The air whistled before two more explosions sounded somewhere to his side, but Max didn’t stop. Even though it felt like his heart did.

Dust and debris made it hard to make out anything at first as he reached the tent, and for a moment he was terrified that everyone was dead. Patients, doctors and nurses. Rabbit, who must have just entered when the shell hit.

Then the sounds hit him, making him draw in a breath of relief. Groans and moans, names called, someone crying out in pain. Most of the lights were broken, leaving only glimpses of light here and there to light up the chaos. Thankfully nothing seemed to have caught fire, though a few cables sparked ominously every now and then.

From what he could see, the blast had initially hit the OR, like he’d suspected, but that didn’t mean the rest of the building wasn’t damaged. Most of the windows were broken, sending wafts of icy air into the building. Parts of the roof and walls had caved in, leaving a lot of debris in addition to beds and overturned equipment. This was also a sturdier building, meaning that the pieces of structure that had fallen was quite a bit heavier than a tent would be.

“Hey!” he called out between coughs as dust tickled his throat, “Hawkeye! Anyone? Rabbit?”

“Klinger, is that you?” someone called out, and he headed in that direction to see Colonel Potter struggling to his feet near an overturned bed.

“Colonel! You all right?” He reached out a hand that the Colonel grabbed and pulled him to his feet. Taking in the older man’s appearance, he was glad to find no visible sign of injury.

“Fine,” Colonel Potter said shortly, looking around, “can’t say the same for the rest of this place. Goodness… that blast sure did a number on us. We got to get everyone out of here.”

“Where do we put them, though, it’s freezing out,” Max pointed out, before the idea struck him and he ended up answering his own question, “Wait, the mess tent, could that work?”

“Seems our best bet,” Colonel Potter nodded, “if it’s still standing, that is. Let’s get to work.”

Klinger nodded and began trying to find all the patients underneath the wreckage. After a while they were thankfully joined by Hawkeye, B.J. and several of the nurses as they crawled out from where they’d landed. Hawkeye had a few cuts from where he’d been peppered with glass from one of the windows, and B.J. was limping slightly, but neither let that hinder them as they got to work.

Soon the place was bustling with activity, as those who hadn’t been in the building at the time of the blast came rushing to the scene to help. It was disorienting, with everyone yelling out orders or pleas for help. Because of this it took Max a while to notice his own name among the shouts. He looked around frantically, until he spotted the green and blue gleam of Rabbit’s eyes in the darkness.

“Rabbit! Hang on, I’m coming,” he called back. Making sure the patient he’d been helping was okay on his own, he treaded carefully around the rubble to make it over to the robot. Only when he got there did he see why he hadn’t spotted the robot at first. He seemed partially buried beneath parts of the walls and roof of the building, arms outstretched to hold it back.  Underneath him, shielded from most of the rubble was Major Houlihan and the young man with the collapsed lung. Another man, dressed more fancily, was also half-lying there, blinking groggily as blood ran down from a cut on his forehead.

From the looks of it, Rabbit had done his best to function almost as a shield against the blast, and it seemed to have worked. He was struggling under the weight of everything he was holding up and away from them, and Max shuddered to think what would have happened if all that had fallen on top of the others. “Hey, we need some help over here!” he called out for the doctors.

It wasn’t until he reached them that he glanced up to see the extent of the damage. The blast seemed to have pushed through from the OR and had all but wrecked the doorway into post-op. Max felt sick. The offices would be somewhere under that wreckage. He already knew Colonel Potter hadn’t been in there, but he had yet to see Radar anywhere. If he had been in there at the time of the blast… He looked away, deciding he would not entertain that line of thought at the moment.

The groan of wood and metal made his attention snap back to the issue at hand, and he began the attempt to clear away the debris Rabbit was still holding up and away from the people around him.

Hawkeye was the first to reach them, and Max caught him sending a wide-eyed glance in the direction of the offices as well. “Have you seen Radar?” he asked. Max shook his head, and the doctor took a breath, steeling himself before turning to Major Houlihan.

She, like Rabbit, seemed to have done her best to shield the patient from harm, and had as a result gotten several scrapes. She did wake when Hawkeye shook her, however, groaning and giving a few not very lady-like phrases.

The patient seemed worse for wear, though that was not unexpected seeing as he’d been in a poor state to begin with. Max could only hope his lungs wouldn’t give in completely under these dusty conditions.

“Justin,” Rabbit began, voice strained, “’s he… okay?”

“he’s still alive,” Hawkeye said shortly, though Max could see from his expression that he might not be for long.

“How’re you holding up, Rabbit?” Max asked as he attempted to free the robot from the debris by pulling and pushing pieces away. The shining eyes that had allowed him to see him in the first place, turned slightly towards him.

“Okay, f-for now,” Rabbit replied tersely, though his body was still twitching and giving off sounds it shouldn’t. Max tried to move quicker. He hadn’t forgotten that the robot had barely been able to support himself earlier, it seemed a miracle he was still standing. “Wh-where’s Jon?”

Max winced. “Not sure,” he admitted, “but he’s not in here.” He wondered where he’d run off to. Clearly something had made him change course last second, and Max knew he’d heard other explosions, but he had yet to see the damage done to the rest of the camp. Thankfully, apart from another few more distant explosions, it seemed the shellfire had moved away as quickly as it had come. Max could only hope that meant that whoever had been behind the shelling, they had never been the intended target and would be left alone from now on.

Rabbit nodded, almost as if to himself. If he was worried about his brother, he was careful not to let that affect his determination to not crumple under the weight he was holding up. Instead he turned towards the man with the cut.

“Are-are you all r-right, Sir?” he asked carefully. Max blinked, taking in the man properly for the first time and realizing with a start that this was probably the visiting Colonel. In all the commotion, he hadn’t really noticed.

“I’m fine,” Colonel Perry said, though he sounded a little dazed. The cut was still bleeding lazily, and his pale face looked somewhat menacing with all the blood covering it. He struggled to his feet, and Max noted that he was fairly tall, though he hunched over slightly, as if dizzy.

“Whoa, you should sit down,” he exclaimed, “let someone take a look at that cut, Colonel.”

“Nonsense, others need their attention more than me,” the Colonel barked out, forehead creasing strictly. He stood, almost face to face with Rabbit now that the robot wasn’t able to straighten to his full height. Rabbit held his gaze, before grunting as his knees threatened to buckle under him. Stubbornly, he moved one leg further in front of him to get more leverage against the weight pushing down on him.

“Sir,” he bit out between clenched teeth, “you have to g-get out.”

“You-” The Colonel trailed off. He looked somewhat conflicted, tossing a glance at where Hawkeye and Major Houlihan were getting ready to transport the soldier out of there, before studying Rabbit wordlessly for a moment. Then, to Max’ surprise, the Colonel moved over to stand next to him and began helping him pull debris away.

“Sir, you d-d-don’t have to-” Rabbit began, but a hard look from the man shut him up.

“I’m quite aware that we’d be crushed under all this if you hadn’t stopped it. So be quiet and let us help you, Soldier.”

Rabbit’s eyes widened, before he gave a mute nod.

Together, they heaved parts of broken wall and roof away. It was strange how time seemed to move both very quickly and not at all. Around them, patients were transported out, and things seemed to be going all right. Hawkeye and Major Houlihan got the young soldier to the mess tent, which had been made into a make-shift medical building, and didn’t come back, suggesting he or others needed their urgent medical attention.

Max listened with half an ear to hear news about everyone he still hadn’t seen in the commotion. Apparently, most of the nurses and all the doctors were accounted for, many having started taking care of the patients in the mess tent as enlisted personnel got the remaining patients out.

A few of the patients had been badly affected by the blast, though Max hoped none had been killed. Enough people had died lately, and it seemed a cruel fate to survive enemy fire and the cold, only to die in the hospital where they were supposed to be safe.

Rabbit shifted carefully, and as they got the few remaining pieces off him, he was able to step forward without everything crashing down on top of them. His body groaned and popped for a moment, but he seemed otherwise alright. Max smiled with relief, opening his mouth to ask if the robot was okay, when the roof above them groaned menacingly.

Everyone still inside froze what they were doing, barely daring to breathe. Then, there was a rush to move even swifter as the entire building seemed to sway and more parts of the roof started falling around them.

“Everyone out!” he heard Colonel Potter shouting, though everyone who were able to move freely was already helping each other towards the exit. Colonel Perry straightened and began moving towards the door, when he stumbled, blood loss or head injury catching up with him. He would have fallen if it weren’t for Rabbit catching him. “Sorry ‘bout this, Sir,” Rabbit warned before hoisting him up over his shoulder and rushing towards the exit. Max followed the Colonel’s cry of shock, or perhaps indignation, through the darkness, jumping over rubble and debris to get out

He saw Rabbit turn back as he reached the door, heard him calling his name. Then something hit the back of his neck, and he hit the ground hard, though he didn’t feel the impact. It wasn’t until he blinked back awake that he realized he must have passed out.

Something was pushing him down with enough force to make it hard to move or even breathe properly. He coughed, wincing as his neck and upper back throbbed. But at least he could still feel it, and when he flexed his muscles experimentally, it didn’t feel like whatever had hit him had made too much damage. Turning his head with some difficulty, he tried to see anything, but found only darkness. The sounds that had previously filled the air seemed the have disappeared, and he tried not to think about how much of the building might have collapsed on top of him.

“H-hey!” he called out hoarsely, “I’m here! I can’t move!”

Had anyone else been buried? Had Rabbit made it out? Was he going to suffocate here before anyone could get to him? Panic welled up in his throat and he tried his best not to hyperventilate. “Easy, Max… you’re okay,” he muttered to himself. “Just breathe.”

He wasn’t sure how long he lay there, trying to slowly shift his arm enough to get it out in front of him. If only he could get his limbs free enough to cooperate, then maybe he could pull himself out of here. It was too silent. It felt like he was isolated completely from the outside, and panic gnawed at his throat. His eyes burned, though he wasn’t sure if it was from the dust or the fear that he would be buried alive, with no one finding him until it was too late.

Suddenly, light shone through cracks in the rubble around him, sparkling in the dust particles in the air and making him squint against the unexpected and painful brightness. It seemed to be accompanied by a distant sound, and his heart skipped a beat. For a few terrifying moments he feared that one of the broken cables had sparked a fire, and he’d be swallowed by flames. Then, he recognized the sound as the muted hum of a car engine.

Relief washed over him, and he chuckled breathlessly. Or perhaps it was a sob. Whether help had arrived or if someone had just decided to use the car headlights as a light source, the sound breaking the oppressing silence was very welcome.

“Hey, help…” he called out weakly, hope renewed as he shifted again. With a groan he finally managed to get his arm out in front of him, proceeding to knock against whatever surface he could reach. Hopefully someone would hear him eventually. Or soon, preferably, as he was starting to feel dizzy and light-headed from not being able to breathe deeply.

“Klinger!” A distant voice made him stop knocking for a moment. As it came closer, he felt tears spring to his eyes, unbidden. The voice was familiar, and one he’d been hoping to hear ever since he reached post-op. “Klinger, where are you?”

Coughing, he tried to draw enough breath to call back. “’m here… R-Radar, I’m here,” he managed, though not at all loud enough for anyone to hear. So, instead, he knocked as hard as he could with his fist, hoping it was enough.

His knuckles ached, and the lack of response stretched on for so long that he started wondering if it was pointless and he’d just imagined the voice. Then something shifted, and the weight on his back was pulled away, like it weighed nothing. Finally, he could draw in a proper breath, turning with some difficulty to peer through the sudden brightness. The silhouette he saw against the bright lights was way too tall to be Radar, but Max wasn’t going to complain.

More of the rubble was lifted off easily, and the stranger turned to someone behind him. “He’s here, Corporal,” he called out, voice deep and unfamiliar. Max squinted in an attempt to make out any features, but before he could, another face appeared next to him.

“Klinger! Jeez, are you okay?”

Max let out a strangled sound, finally letting himself relax. “Good to see you, Radar,” he managed dizzily. “Thought you were dead there for a second.”

“I could say the same,” Radar murmured, before saying something to the taller figure. Suddenly Max found himself being lifted off the ground, Radar supporting his neck while the other man lifted him into his arms. He might as well have weighed nothing, and it wasn’t until he finally got a good look at the stranger’s face that he realized why.

“It’s… It’s you!” was the rather ineloquent exclamation that left his lips before he could stop it. Astonished, he watched as the robot gave a crooked half-smile.

“I’m The Spine. Pleasure to meet you, Corporal Klinger,” he greeted. Max nodded weakly in return, but before he could reply in a more polite manner, he found his vision growing dim around the edges.

“I think ‘m gonna pass out,” he warned, words slurring together.

The comforting shine of calm, green eyes were the last thing he saw before everything turned dark, and a deep voice told him to rest easy.

So, he did as told, and knew no more.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading!

**Author's Note:**

> More chapters are planned, but we'll see how long the story will be. I hope the story will make sense even if you haven't seen the M*A*S*H TV-series, because I know it's old and unfamiliar to a lot of people. Feedback is appreciated! Thanks for reading! :)


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